Disclaimer: The PPC was created by Jay and Acacia; I have Permission to write this spin-off. The Sleep Mellon was first written by Alleb. Saxo and James are mine. The world of Harry Potter was created by J. K. Rowling and the world of Labyrinth by Jim Henson.
The fanfic being sporked, Wishes and Crystals belongs to Princess Emarelda.

Thanks to eatpraylove and S.M.F. who have been enormously helpful with betaing.

When the other two agents had left for their mission, James looked around the RC. “Might as well get started on our chores while they are out.”

“I don’t want to do chores,” said Saxo. “Why do we even have chores? We’re not kids.”

“Well, what do you want to do, if not chores?”

“I … uh … I want to contemplate important things.”

James crossed his arms. “You mean, you want to lounge about and re-watch The Force Awakens. You do realize that Kylo Ren is not supposed to be a role-model?”

“Mind your own business, fox!”

“Happily, when you mind yours.” James handed Saxo a plastic bag. “It is your turn to clean Aniseed’s litter box.”

“Urgh,” Saxo groaned, but went over to the litter box anyway. He pulled out his wand from his robes. “Accio cat poop,” he yelled and deftly caught the flying clumps in the bag. “I can’t believe I’m reduced to using my magic like this.”

“You could just scoop them out like a normal person,” pointed out James, who had begun washing the many tea mugs.

“Like a Muggle, you mean. That’s not what I’m talking about. We should have house elves.” Saxo sighed and pointed the wand at the litter box again. “Accio clumps!”

The clumps came flying out of the litter box just as Aniseed came flying out from somewhere and pounced on the biggest. It fell apart into a rain of dirty sand.

Aniseed stood in the middle of it, looking wide-eyed. “Mreow,” she said, and licked a paw before walking off towards the Radioactive Moss Creature’s room.

“Merlin’s wrinkly left cheek,” Saxo muttered, and went over to look under the sink for a broom and a dustpan. Therefore, when the console suddenly went BEEEEP!! he banged his head on the sink.

James walked over, pressed the button to silence the alarm, and started reading the report. Saxo, still rubbing his head and muttering different variations of “Merlin’s [adjective] [body part]” under his breath, joined him.

It turned out to be a new Harry Potter/Labyrinth crossover, and judging by the report, it combined and magnified the worst badfic traits from both continua.

“Myla… Sarah might have acted that way before going through the labyrinth, but not afterwards. If she did, then the whole movie would have been pointless,” complained James.

“Mucking up the magical world?” muttered Saxo. “We’ll see about that.”

When they were done reading they were once again united, if not comfortably then at least efficiently, in the common loathing of a badfic.

Saxo took the backpack from the shelf and checked the contents to make sure everything was there, while James started punching buttons on the console.

“Are we going as House Elves again?” asked James.

Saxo just nodded with gritted teeth, since he despised going as anything non-human.

James set the disguises and opened the portal, Saxo hoisted the backpack, and they stepped through.



They stood in prefic darkness and had to cover their ears as an Author’s Note in bold blared over them.

Wishes & Crystals begins a year after Sarah’s journey through the Labyrinth.

It is fall again and school is one month in. Sarah is now extremely close to Toby, but Karen and her father don’t change. They are uncaring and ignore her.

The CAD gave a BEEP loud enough to be heard over the din. Saxo took it out and looked at the display. [Centered text found. Revert to left-justified? Y/N]

Saxo pressed to confirm, and a moment later the format of the text became less obnoxious, although it didn’t do anything for the content.

“Why are there so many badfics that try to make Karen and Sarah’s dad out to be neglectful or borderline abusive?” asked James. “They are pretty normal parents and Sarah was having normal teenage conflicts with them. Nobody was actually horrible.”

Saxo simply shrugged and handed him the notebook so he could get started on the charge list, since the badness kept piling up with every new sentence.

One day Karen decides that Sarah is just a problem getting in the way of their happy family so she convinces Robert to let her send Sarah away to a horrible Catholic Orthodox boarding school run by nuns in Mass. Bay. But Sarah not only has caught the eye of the goblin king. She has caught the attention of Albus Dumbledore and the moon goddess, Selene.

“Well, there it is,” said Saxo. “She’s a big, honking Sue and we don’t need anything other than that paragraph to …”

“No,” interrupted James firmly. “We are going to do this by the book.”


Ignorant of her heritage, Sarah is shocked to discover that her great grandfather, Aldethas Gallan Williams was a wizard, she accepts the invitation to attend Hogwarts, unknown to her parents who think she is in Mass.

“That is not how it works,” said James, scribbling. “She is a minor so she does not get to attend Hogwarts without the consent of her parents, certainly not without their knowledge. I am charging for having herself kidnapped.”

But she is not alone, along with her new Griffindor friends, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, the Weasleys,Ron, Fred, Ginny, George, Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson, Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, Oliver Wood, and Alicia Spinnet, she might just survive. Unfortunately with all this Sarah gains a powerful enemy, Draco Malfoy.

Saxo bent down to pick up Griffindor and placed it on top of the backpack. “Don’t fall off,” he warned. The mini-Aragog clicked its pincers in reply.

Sarah has much to hide yet much to gain, she discovers that not only does she have tame magic (wizard magic) she has wild magic (Labyrinth Fae Magic). Secretly, she learns and discovers more about her Fae powers that are equal to Jareth’s and experiences the effects and duties as a moon child and it’s gifts.

“Urgh!” exclaimed Saxo. “She might as well be ticking off a list of Labyrinth and Harry Potter Sue clichés.”

“I think something is finally happening.”

Sure enough, the darkness around them lifted and they found themselves standing on the pavement in front of Sarah’s house. Sarah herself was coming up the street with her dog on a leash, so the agents had to hide around a corner.

Mid July – Saturday, July 16, 1994

The world around them started to shake ever so slightly.

“Must be the time-shift,” whispered James. “Labyrinth takes place around 1986, almost a decade before this.”

Sarah had wished Toby away about seven and a half months before.

The shaking became even more pronounced.

“What’s this, then?” asked Saxo.

“The intro said that the story begins a year after the events of Labyrinth,” James explained. “So there is not just a jump in the canon time, but the story’s own internal chronology is inconsistent.”

“You’ve been doing some reading, haven’t you?”

“I take this work seriously and I would thank you to do the same.”

“She’s entering the house; let’s follow.”

They went all the way around the house, looking for an open window, before James remembered that they could just portal in. Saxo thought of Apparating in at the same time, so they argued about which way would work better before finally doing it each their own way and meeting up inside.

This meant that they missed a lot of whining from Sarah about what an awful mother Karen was and how she was basically a slave in her own home, as well as a flashback to the first manifestation of Sarah’s new powers (summoning crystals when she got angry).

She did magic when she could, like if she forgot a book or was running late to school. She still talked to Hoggle, Ludo, and Sir Didymus constantly and she even had some goblin friends, who loved to make mischief for Karen. Her hob-goblin friends were, Ziggy, Gimp, No-Nose, Dizz, Dusty, Wagli, Peeku, and Moli.

“Soooo…” said Saxo, scratching his nose thoughtfully. “Do you want to bet that only one or two of them will have lines or any kind of personality and the rest will just be in the background once each, after which we’ll never see them again because she got tired of copy-pasting the names?”


“Bucket of fun you are. Also, incoming flashback. Brace yourself.”

Everything went sepia-toned as a scene played where Sarah was upset with Karen and a group of Brownies showed up and started to clean the house while singing and dancing. Then the flashback ended.

They had introduced themselves as Patches, Brownie, and Buttons.

“Hang on, what?” asked Saxo after the flashback had ended. “Whatever happened to Dingy, Stuffy, and Butthurt or whatever their names were? And weren’t they supposed to be hob-goblins?”

“She must have changed her mind. I should have taken that bet anyway, since it turned out you were wrong.”

Saxo sniffed. “Only on a technicality. I was right that she couldn’t be bothered with writing them properly; I just underestimated how little she actually cared.”

“She is using the mirror to call Hoggle now. You should get a reading on him to find out how out of character he is.”

Saxo scowled but took out the CAD.

Hoggle’s face appeared in the mirror and he stepped through. “Hiya missy!”Hoggle said. “Hey Hoggle. How are you and the guys?”Sarah asked.

“Line breaks. They exist for a reason,” said Saxo.

“We are well Sarah. Ludo and Didymus have set up a stand in the marketplace. Ludo sells rocks that change shape in your hand and Didymus carves wood.

Saxo laughed out loud, making both Sarah and Hoggle pause and look around, so that he and James had to duck so as not to be seen. After a moment the two canons shrugged and continued their conversation.

“I didn’t know you were so good at whittling,” whispered Saxo. “That baton you’re using, did you make that yourself?”

James scowled, but elected to ignore the jibe. Instead he said: “It just said in an earlier paragraph that she talks to her three friends constantly, so why does this conversation read like she has not seen any of them for months?”

“Hm. You’re right. This is starting to look less like sloppy writing and more like a serious case of amnesia.”

“And it seems to be contagious. You still need to get that reading.”

Saxo rolled his eyes but pointed the CAD at Hoggle, checked that it was muted, and pressed the button. Then he read the display before showing it to James.

[Hoggle. Goblin. Canon. OOC 45%.] The text blinked and was replaced with: [It sounds like a lot, but he is hardly in this story.] Blink. [Not glamorous enough, you know?]

“Tell me about it,” muttered Saxo and was about to put the CAD away, when James said: “Get a reading on Sarah, while you are at it.”

“Don’t see why we have to bother. She’s as Sueish a Sue as I’ve ever seen. We’d just risk the CAD blowing up.”

“And if we don’t do this properly, we risk Upstairs blowing up.” James made a grab for the CAD and got it.

Saxo ignored him and stepped in front of Sarah after she finished talking to Hoggle. “Sarah Williams, also known as Mary Sue, you are charged with being a big honking Sue, multiple time-shifts, and not caring enough about your own story or your own OCs to keep even the simplest details straight. You are sentenced to die. Avada Kedavra!”

The killing curse struck the confused looking Sarah squarely in the chest and she keeled over backwards.

“Noooo!” James yelled.

Saxo turned. “What?”

James held up the CAD and showed him the display. [Sarah Williams. Human. Canon. OOC 32%.] It blinked. [You messed up.]

Saxo felt his knees go wobbly. “She’s the real Sarah? But she had every single mark of being a Sue!”

“And that is why we get a reading before executing anyone,” replied James through gritted teeth. He opened the notebook and wrote a short message, before ripping out the page and placing it on Sarah’s chest. Then he opened a portal. “Help me get her through. Carefully.”

“Is this going to the Bog of Eternal Stench?” asked Saxo as they lifted the dead body through.

“What?! No! It is a portal to Medical. They can fix her.”

“But she’s dead!”

“She is a canon. They can fix her. We, however, are still in trouble and we will need to clean this up without further mishaps.” He scanned the Words ahead of them. “Fortunately, it would seem that Sarah does not show up again for a while. We will proceed with our duty.”

Meanwhile, in Salem, Massachusetts, a young middle age woman sat at a desk.

The Word World shimmered for a moment, then settled on a young woman in a dress that looked like it came from a historical movie with little thought to accuracy and an even smaller budget.

She pulled out some creamy stationary and began to write in a beautiful flowing script. Soon she was finished and she sealed the note in the envelope.

A large pool of spilled cream appeared on the desk, which the woman wrote in with a pen. It went about as well as you would expect. When she was finished, she wiped the cream from the table down into an envelope, spilling most of it, before sending it off with an owl.

“Creamy is actually an acceptable word for ‘cream coloured’,” muttered James. “The Word World must be seriously out of whack to interpret it literally.”

The woman’s name was Anya McCallistar. She was a witch and the headmistress of a wizard school in Salem.

James sniffed. “Smells like a Sue to me. You had better get a reading on heeeeer!!” The last word ended in a drawn out yowl, as they were dragged sideways into a new scene.

At the same time in Salem, Massachusetts,

“Wait, what?” asked Saxo, getting to his feet. “Weren’t we here just a minute ago?”

“I have a feeling of deja moo,” said James.

a kind woman with deep blue eyes and blond hair in her mid-thirties, stared at a large old thick book.

A man entered the room and greeted the woman as Anya and she greeted him as Casper.

The two Agents hid behind a curtain, although it was doubtful if any of the two people would have noticed them, since Anya had been oblivious to their headfirst tumble into the room.

Anya Felling was a wise woman of thirty-five. She had deep big blue eyes and golden blond hair that fell to her shoulders.

“I will make sure to contact the Department of Redundancy Department about this,” said James.

She wore a black wizard robe, with two symbols on the right chest. One was the shield of Gryffindor the other was the shield that said -Salem School of Witchcraft- with a black cat. She was the founder and headmistress of the school. It was the only wizard and witch school in the United States that existed.

There was a moment of stunned silence.

“Merlin’s pantaloons!” swore Saxo. “How arrogant can one get? Not only is she headmistress at the age of thirty-five, but she claims to have founded the first and only Wizarding School in America? I know this is before Pottermore and all that, but this is still beyond stupid! How and where does she think magically gifted American children got their training before she came along?”

He pulled out the CAD, muted it, and pointed it at Anya. [Anya Felling, or possibly McCallistar. Female human. Non-canon. Yup, that’s a Sue alright.]

James glanced at the read-out. “We have our target,” he said.

“So do we just kill her now or …?” asked Saxo.

“We gather charges and, if we are very lucky, we will manage to gather enough to warrant killing her and ending the fic before Sarah is set to make her next appearance.”

“And if we’re not?”

“I have read of a case like that. One of the agents had to play the role of the canon character in the fic to get the story moving along.” James’ facial expression was neutral, but there was a wicked gleam in his eyes.

After Ayna graduated from Hogwarts in 1977, she became an Auror.

“Looks like I might just avoid having to …” began Saxo. He stopped and looked at a tiny version of Anya running in circles on the floor. “Is that a mini-Sue?”

“It must be Ayna,” replied James.

There was an excited hissing, and then Griffindor jumped through the air and landed next to the mini-Sue, who only had time for a small squeak before meeting her timely demise.

“Good mini-Aragog,” said James brightly.

She did this for five years, until she was twenty-three. She then returned to Salem, Massachusetts and founded a magic school for magical children in the United States with the help of some of her friends from Hogwarts.

Saxo pinched the bridge of his nose. “She didn’t just become an Auror, she ditched the job again.”

In the fic, Anya explained to Casper that a new name of a fifteen year old girl had showed up in the Book of Listings. She wrote a letter to Dumbledore and McGonagall and sent it by owl. This time, no dairy products were involved.

She then went to the staff room and explained to some of the present faculty members how she had found out about Sarah.

“A new witch has been announced. And not just any witch. Her name is Sarah Katherine Williams. She is fifteen years old and lives with her father, stepmother, and half baby brother, Toby, in the town of Crystal Falls, New Jersey.”

There was another silence, this time from embarrassment, as both Agents tried to fathom the level of subtlety it would take to have a Labyrinth fic take place in a town called Crystal Falls.

James cleared his throat. “One of the faculty members is the uncanonical brother of Nymphadora Tonks.”

Grateful for something to do, Saxo took out the CAD and got a reading on Henry Tonks. [Henry Tonks. Male human. Non-canon. Bit original character. Very little bit.]

“Funny,” muttered Saxo and put it back in his pocket.

“The girl that just was listed today in the Book of Listings, is the great granddaughter of Aldethas Gallan Williams and is the great great niece of Godric Gryffindor.”

“She is the Gryffindor Heir!”Casper exclaimed.

The agents found themselves in Dumbledore’s office almost as quickly as they’d arrived in Salem.

The headmaster received Anya’s letter and then went to his own staff room, where a selection of faculty members were gathered.

“I just got a letter from Anya everyone!”Dumbledore said entering the room. “Oh Albus, what does it say?”Minerva asked. “I haven’t read it yet.”Dumbledore said opening the letter.

Both Agents facepalmed twice in a row. It helped a little because the physical pain distracted from the pain of the stupid.

Anya McClallistar was a student at Hogwarts long ago, when she grew up she went to America and founded a school for witches and wizards there. Dumbledore silently read the letter.

With another enthusiastic hiss, Griffindor jumped down and took care of McClallistar the mini-Sue, while James noted a charge in very large letters with many exclamation points for being unable to decide on her own name.

James frowned. “Sarah is about to show up in the next scene, so we had better stop this now.” He winced. “The kids at her school call her ‘Ice Queen’.”

Saxo also made a pained expression. The Sarah!Sue in the badfic they both originated from had had the same nickname. “Cliché much?” he said with a laugh that sounded a little shaky. “Are you sure there are no more major charges?”

“I am sure.” James pointed ahead in the Words to the end of the following chapter, which contained an Author’s Note asking for ideas for how Sarah and Jareth should meet.

Saxo made a disgusted noise. “Very well. As you say, we should wrap this parody of a fic up.” He had managed to pull himself together, but was still so shaken from his mistake, that he didn’t even comment on the fact that in the Words he had just scanned, Hoggle said that Didymus’ dog was smarter than he was.

Then he hesitated, thinking for a moment. “Actually, let’s get Anya first and stuff her in an Oubliette. I want her to sit and think about what’s coming next.” He grinned, grabbed James’s arm, and Apparated back to Salem. Anya had no life outside her role in the plot, so she was still waiting in her office for McGonagall to arrive. It was eerie and rather sad in a way, but at least it made it very easy to open a portal under Anya’s chair, which she fell through with a yelp.

The agents quickly made a round to all the characters who had been affected by the story — this time by portal, since James claimed that apparating gave him an upset stomach — and erased everyone’s memories of the events of the fic using alternately the neuralyzer and Memory Charms, and in Hoggle’s case both at once.

“Oops,” said James, looking down at the unconscious Hoggle. “Do you think he’ll be alright?”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” said Saxo. “We can ask in Medical when we get back. Discreetly, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Well, that was almost as dull as wading through this fic,” said Saxo when they were done cleaning up and had gotten rid of Henry Tonks.

James opened a portal to the Oubliette and they stepped through.

Saxo yelled “Stupefy!” at the Sue and she froze sitting on the floor. Only her eyes moved, darting from one to the other as if she knew this could not be good.

James took out the notebook, but Saxo asked “May I?”

With a surprised look at his partner being polite, James handed it over.

Saxo cleared his throat and began: “Anya McCallistar or Felling or whatever your name is, you are charged with exceptionally sloppy writing leading to, among other things, time-shifts, random name changes, and spawning Griffindor the mini-Aragog along with two mini-Sues. You are further charged with having a completely overblown backstory, being both a former Auror and the headmistress of a wizarding school you founded yourself when you’re not even in your forties, being arrogant enough to claim that said school is the only one in North America, putting several other characters Out of Character, especially Sarah Williams, who we killed in the belief she was a Sue —”

“Hang on!” interrupted James. “You do not get to pin that on her. You killed Sarah because you could not be bothered to get a reading. That has nothing to do with her.”

“Only because she was so Sueish! Anyone would have mistaken her for the main Sue!”

“But not anyone would have killed her without making sure.” James’ expression of anger was replaced by one of sadness. “You killed her, because you wanted to. Because you hate the real Sarah, and for this … I apologize.”

“You … apologize?” Saxo could not have been more surprised if James had sprouted an extra head. Even the Sue looked puzzled.

“In our last mission together,” James said slowly, “I wanted to kill the replacement-Sue prematurely, without even charging her, because I love Sarah so much. You held me back, reminded me of my Duty. I should have done the same for you, but I failed you. I failed the Flowers. This is my fault. I am sorry.”

He stopped talking and just stood, looking dejected.

Saxo cleared his throat again. He felt like he should do or say something, but had absolutely zero experience with comforting an upset person and nothing in his background to help him out. How would Mittens or the RMC handle this?

“Look, I screwed up and it’s not something you should take the blame for,” he said finally. “Anyway, Medical will fix Sarah, we’ll kill this Sue and fix canon, and the Flowers will forgive us. It’ll be alright.”

James looked up. “You think so?”

“I do. Now let’s get this over and done with. I’m sick of this story.” He made a gesture towards the Sue. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

“In that case, Anya, I charge you with being a Sue and the center of an awful story. The punishment is death and you do not get any last words because, frankly, there’s been enough talking.”


After watching the Sue sink in the Bog of Eternal Stench and making sure that there were no more bubbles coming up, the agents opened a portal back to RC#170 and stepped through, reluctantly. They were half expecting to see agents from the Department of Internal Affairs waiting to arrest them, but the RC was empty, apart from the many minis, Aniseed and the Prefect Badger, which was snoring peacefully in a corner. Either Mittens and the RMC hadn’t gotten back from their mission yet, or they had gone somewhere else.

Griffindor jumped eagerly from the backpack and joined the small group of mini-Aragogs, who all hissed excitedly.

There was a soft “blup” and a message appeared on the screen of the console. “Come see me at once. The Floating Hyacinth.”

Saxo gulped audibly, but James reached out and squeezed his arm. “We’ll go together. We’ll face this as fellow agents.”

Saxo simply nodded, and they went out the door, whereupon a melon with Elf ears bounced past, snored menacingly, and continued on its way.

The agents looked after it, looked at each other, shrugged, and went in the opposite direction to face the wrath of their department head.


Because time in HQ can be very wonky indeed, the Radioactive Moss Creature was already at the Nursery, waiting for him. It was talking to an elderly lady with her hair in a bun. She turned and smiled at Mittens, then she cooed at Elisabeth, who giggled back and made happy spit bubbles.

“Shall I put you down as her legal guardian?” asked the lady and took the baby from Mittens.

“Uh, I’m not sure if …” he began.

“You won’t have to adopt her or raise her, but it would be a kind gesture. It will be nice for the girl to know that someone cares about her.”

Miss MacKinnon,” said the RMC firmly, “I appreciate that you are thinking about what’s best for the children, but it’s not nice of you to try to emotionally blackmail my partner. He is not responsible for the child.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“I would like to come visit,” said Mittens. “That is, if I may?”

“Oh, that would be wonderful.” Miss MacKinnon beamed a smile at them. “And have you thought about a name?”

“A name?” asked the RMC.

“Well, she can’t go on being named Winchester and since she’s so young, we can change her first name also.”

“I haven’t got any ideas,” said the RMC. “Never really saw the purpose of names, myself. How about you?”

Mittens thought about this. He tried to think of a good girls’ name. Someone he admired. Finally he said: “Ammy, and for her last name, she should be called Moss.” He looked down at the RMC, worried that he might have gone too far, but it just looked bemused.

Miss MacKinnon looked very pleased. “Ammy Moss, a beautiful name. Well, Ammy, I think it’s time for your bottle so wave goodbye to the nice agents.”

Ammy looked thoughtful and stuck her whole hand into her mouth. Then she took it out and made what might have been a waving motion.

Both Mittens and the RMC waved in return, before starting the walk back to RC#170.

Disclaimer: Supernatural was created by Eric Kripke. The PPC was created by Jay and Acacia; I’m only playing in it. The fanfics ‘Ski Trip‘ and ‘Baby‘ belong to Kit-Kat92 and she can keep them; preferably far away from me. Mittens, the RMC and James are mine.

Rating: T. Fics contain attempted rape and miscarriage, but no details.

”You are back,” said James as soon as Mittens opened the door to RC #170. ”How did it go? Where were you sent?”

”We’ve been transferred to the Department of Improbabilities,” the Radioactive Moss Creature replied. ”It’s …” It was interrupted by the console going BEEEEEEEEP!!

Mittens strode over, hit the button and checked the Intelligence Report. “It’s another Supernatural fic,” he said and frowned. “For no discernible reason, the Winchester brothers stop looking for their father and Sam settles down with a girlfriend.” He turned to look at the RMC. “That’s …”

“Improbable, yes,” the RMC finished dryly. “Well, we’ve already packed for that canon. Do we need a new dummy?”

“No, but I think we might need extra bottles of Bleeprin.”

“Then grab what you can find and let’s get going.”

Mittens set their disguises to human, opened a portal and they stepped into the pre-fic darkness.

An Author’s Note boomed.

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything certainly not this.

My sis wrote this and told me to post it so hear it is.

“It’s going to be one of those fics, isn’t it?” said the RMC with a sigh.

“According to the report, yes. But maybe the sister has better SPaG than the poster?”

The fic opened with some exposition.

They had been looking for there father for almost a year now and Sam hadn’t gottenover the death of his girlfriend but he Dean convinced him that as much as it hurt Sam was just going to have to move on no matter how much the pain was. There had been “supernatural” cases but Dean decided Sam needed a little break to get to move on with his life before he continued being a supernatural bounty hunter.

“What? No!” the RMC exclaimed. “Back then Dean would never have told Sam to take a break from hunting. Not to mention that the demon who killed Sam’s girlfriend and their mother is still out there and they would still want it dead.”

“So, a charge for OOC behaviour, then.” Mittens took out a notebook and a pen. “I should get a reading on the brothers, just to make sure none of them have been replaced. Once they show up, that is.” Mittens shot a pointed look at the lack-of-setting-around them.

When he went back to what as hewould call it a “normal” life he went back to schooland his friends andhe even got a new girlfriend, her name was Crystal she was a Latin girl and very beautiful. But today was the anniversary of his girlfriend’s death and Crystal didnt know of her boyfriend’s life past or present and on this specific day he seemed very depressed.

This ended the exposition and the fic finally deposited them in a hallway outside a classroom. The hallway was so generic that for a moment the agents thought they had somehow landed back in HQ, but Sam and Crystal were there.

They watched as Crystal asked Sam if something was wrong and he changed the subject by asking her if she wanted to go skiing.

Mittens took the opportunity to get a reading on Sam. [Sam Winchester. Human (mostly). 91,2% OOC. Otanche. Siem reap District] He looked at it in dismay, before showing it to the RMC. “Apparently there’s much worse to come.”

All of a sudden Xs started falling down around them and they had to dive into the classroom to avoid getting hit. The bold, upper-case Xs had been used to mark a scene change. From the outside, it merely looked bad, but from inside the text, it was very much like having caltrops raining down.

“Charge for the use of weapons grade punctuation,” the RMC said, while opening a portal to the next scene, which took place in a cabin somewhere.

The next thing Sam heard was Crystal’s scream. He went and got there as fast as he could. When he got there she was bleeding from the head. She fell back and hit her head on a rock. She had scratch marks on her and they did not seem normal. So Sam called his brother, Dean, and they where on another supernatural search.

“That came out of absolutely nowhere,” the RMC said. “No buildup, no tension, no nothing. Charge.”

“Also, that has to be the worst description of someone getting injured, that I have …” Mittens began, but was interrupted by an Author’s Note in all caps. Both agents clamped their hands over their ears, but it barely helped.


My ears are ringing,” the RMC said, when it was safe to remove one’s hands from one’s ears.

“What? I can’t hear what you’re saying. My ears are ringing,” Mittens replied, almost as if someone, somewhere was scraping the bottom of the barrel of jokes.


The next chapter opened in a hospital.

Sam called Dean, while he rushed Crystal to the hospital. She woke up 3 hours later and by that time Dean had already gotten there so Sam went in the room alone and Dean stayed in the waiting room.

Being off stage, so to speak, the story had a less firm grip on Dean and he had a puzzled frown as if he was trying very, very hard to remember something that was just outside his reach.

“Get a reading on him,” the RMC whispered. “I’ll take a look at the action. Or what you might call it.” It peeked into the hospital room, where Sam had just told Crystal that something knocked her out and scratched her.

“What do you mean by something?” she asked with a scared look on her face.

“You didn’t see what attacked you?” he asked with a shocked look on his face.

The RMC winced. Then it looked ahead in the Words and returned to Mittens, ushering him to safety in another room, just as more X‘s began raining down.

“We need a charge,” it said, “for what is possibly the worse prose I have ever had the misfortune of coming across. What did the reading say?”

Mittens showed the CAD to the RMC; the last readout still visible in the display. [Dean Winchester. Human. 43,7% OOC. Belvis. Craftivism.]

“He looked like he was trying to break out of it,” he said. “Maybe … Oh, I guess it’s too late now. Sam’s here and Dean is back in the story.”

“Yeah I know, I have to tell her the truth she has to know that we are bounty hunters.”

Sam had not notice but Crystal had came out of the room when he said that they where bounty hunters.
“You’re a what?” She said with a surprised look on her face.

“They’re not bounty hunters!” both agents said, at roughly the same time and with exactly the same tone of annoyance.

Suspense what can I say. PLEASE R&R.

Charge for stupid Author’s Notes,” the RMC said as next chapter began.

After Sam called Dean, while he rushed Crystal to the hospital. She woke up 3 hours later and by that time Dean had already gotten there so Sam went in the room alone and Dean stayed in the waiting room.

Both agents stared. Then blinked. Then stared again.

“You know,” the RMC said. “I’ve got the strangest feeling of deja moo.”

“Did we somehow end up back in the beginning of the last chapter instead of going to the next?”

The RMC looked at the Words. “No. We’ve moved on as we were supposed to. It would seem that whoever put this up, posted the second chapter twice. Let’s just skip it. I have absolutely no desire to rewatch any of it.”

They opened a portal to the next chapter and found themselves standing in a foggy, grey nothingness, since there was no indication of where the chapter took place.

Crystal tried calling an ambulance, but there was no service where they were they where standing. They had Crystal who was in the metical classes in the school and she knew there was a first aid kite in the cabin, so they got on the motor skis and where on there way to the cabin.

“Huh?” asked Mittens.

What?” asked the RMC.

What it this … I don’t even … What’s a ‘metical class’? Or a ‘first aid kite’?”

Never mind that. Where are we and what’s going on?” The RMC frowned and studied the Words for a moment. “It would seem that the second chapter was not just posted twice, it was posted instead of the third. Thus we have no kind of context that could make this make sense.” It paused. “Not that anything could, really, but you know what I mean.”

It checked the Words again since hanging back meant that they had gotten left behind by the story. “So there’s a fourth person who’s hurt. Crystal tells Dean to get the first aid from the bathroom and for some reason he just stares at her like an idiot. Although maybe he’s wondering if she’s talking about the kite or if she wants him to bring something actually useful.”

“Huh. I suppose the Sue is making Dean an idiot because she’s trying to make herself seem competent and assertive.”

“And failing spectacularly. Let’s go to the cabin and watch them in person.”

“Hola beba como estas?” She heard her mother’s voice.
“Bien, yo esto en la mountains con los amigos meo.” She responded in Spanglish.

“What language is she talking?” Dean asked his brother in a whisper.

“I have no idea what she’s saying,” the RMC commented. He and Mittens were outside the cabin looking in through the window at Crystal, who was on the phone. “But even the story admits that it’s not proper Spanish, so we can make the charge.”

“Ok guys, I just asked my mother what a Chupacabra was and she said it was a blood sucking thing and it also does weird scratches.”

The agents gave each other a long look.

“Okay,” Mittens started. “Even though they haven’t actually been featured, chupacabras are mentioned in Supernatural, so they do exist. Which means that Sam and Dean should already know about them.”

“And if they don’t, there could be an entry in their dad’s journal,” the RMC interjected.

Mittens started ticking off points on his fingers. “They could also call Bobby or hit the library or use the internet. Basically, you could do a top fifty of places they would look for info about a monster and ‘waiting for the girlfriend’s mom to happen to call and tell them about it’ wouldn’t even be on it. This is …”


“To say the least, yes.” Mittens crossed his arms. “And it’s not even like the mom knew anything important, like how to find it or kill it.” He uncrossed his arms and started scribbling more charges.

“How did your mom know that?” Sam asked wondering if his girlfriends family was part of the bounty hunting business.

“They show things about that thing on the Spanish news.” She responded.

They started to do more research on Sam’s laptop.

Both agents facepalmed.

“Well, that just made the last part completely and utterly pointless,” Mittens said and wrote a new charge.

They skipped ahead to the next morning and came out of the portal to find the whole cabin in an uproar because the wounded woman from the last chapter was dead.

“It was my fault I should have kept an eye on her we never should have left her alone.” Crystal said with tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Crystal come downstairs with me, Dean you go and do some thing with the body.” Sam said walking out the door with Crystal.
“Look at me. It was not your fault, we couldn’t do anything about it she died it her sleep maybe she didn’t feel anything.” Sam said.

“You idiot! Of course it was her fault!” the RMC snapped, before turning to Mittens. “She couldn’t call an ambulance, but there was nothing stopping her or the Winchesters from driving the woman to the hospital. Instead Crystal, who is supposed to be studying medicine, patched the woman up with a first aid kit or kite or whatever and then ignored her until now. Sam and Dean should also have known better, but they’ve been brainwashed into extreme incompetence so the blame falls squarely on Crystal.”

There was a moment’s silence after the rant.

Mittens cleared his throat. “They’re going hunting. Should we follow?”

“Have to,” the RMC replied moodily. “The hunts are an essential part of a Supernatural story; we need to see how badly she mucks it up.”

Crystal stayed in the car until she heard a scream and it sounded like Sam, so she got out of the car and ran to where the boys where. Sam was not hurt he Screamed because a branch hit him on the back when the wind blew.

There was the sound of two agents banging their heads against two tree trunks in an attempt to lessen the pain.

Crystal didn’t move but it was coming to her. Then Sam took his gun and BOMB. He shot the thing it was on the ground so they said the spell and sent it back to hell. Then Crystal ran to Sam and they got there bags to go home.

“If this was any other fic,” Mittens said, “I would make a charge for having a hunt that was far too short and lacking in tension, but I’m just so glad that it’s over.”

“I know what you mean,” the RMC said. “But you should still find it in you to make the charge. We can’t go around slacking on the Duty.” It checked the words once more. “At least the fic is done. There’s a short scene in which Crystal finds out that she’s pregnant, but we don’t have to watch it.”

“It’s done?” Mittens frowned. “How long is this fic?”

“I’d say around 2000 words, including Author’s Notes.”

“Seriously? I know it makes no sense to complain that it wasn’t longer, but it’s barely even the length of a decent chapter.”

“Yeah, well, let’s just wrap it up so we can go home. It’s …” The RMC stopped and squinted. “There’s something in the Words ahead of us.”


“I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like this before. You know how the end of a fic looks like the grey pre-fic darkness?”

“No.” Mittens had always had difficulties looking ahead in the Words and had never tried to look beyond the end of a fic.

“Well, it does. Except that here, there seems to be something behind it.”

“It continues?”

“Well, it can’t, can it? The fic ends, that’s why it goes grey.”

“Should we skip ahead?”

The RMC considered for a moment. “No. The greyness can’t hurt us, but if we portal blindly, we have no idea where we might end up.” It reached out and grabbed Mittens’ hand. “We’ll let it catch up with us. Just keep the Remote Activator ready so you can open a portal back to HQ, if we need to get out.”

Wide eyed and rigid Mittens waited as the scene with Crystal played out. He made a mental note to charge for stupid use of a pregnancy test, but didn’t want to let go of the RMC’s hand. He probably couldn’t if he had tried. The RMC was holding on to him with an iron grip that turned its knuckles white. Then the greyness at the end of the fic was visible, not unlike the Nothing from the movie version of The Neverending Story and it washed over them and he couldn’t see a thing, could just feel the grip on his hand and gripped tightly in return.

There was a sense of falling or maybe of being catapulted straight ahead; it was impossible to tell. Then they hit something.

Since the pre-fic darkness has no actual mass, landing in it should have been like two solid objects landing on something soft. In reality – although that word is used very loosely here – it felt like the agents were two soft, bouncy objects, like silly putty, landing on something very hard. While it didn’t technically hurt, it was as far away from being comfortable as you can get without losing the ‘didn’t technically’ part of the sentence.

The RMC finally let go of Mittens’ hand and dazed and confused but relatively unscathed they picked themselves up from the not!ground and looked around. Words were glowing in the darkness.

By: Kit-Kat92
What happens in the life of Sam and his girlfriend Crystal From the story sky trip.

“Wha…” Mittens said in a sluggish voice.

“I think,” the RMC said, concentrating hard, which wasn’t doing anything good for its head, “that we have been propelled directly into a sequel to ‘Ski trip’.

Wha…” Mittens said again; then he frowned and tried harder. “Who starts a sequel after writing barely a chapter’s worth of a fic?”

“The same kind of Sue who can’t even get the title of their own story right. Can you get at the Bleeprin?”

“Sure,” Mittens muttered and fumbled for a moment in the dark before finding the glass in a pocket and handing it to the RMC.


Both agents winced as the word suddenly roared though the darkness.

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything, certainly not this.

The fic started properly and Mittens took advantage of the light to write down the charges that had accumulated, along with one for having an annoyingly phrased disclaimer.

The action picked up right where the last story had left off, with Crystal on the phone, learning that she was pregnant.

“Can you believe it?” Crystal asked.
“Of course we did it three weeks ago.” Sam said.
“Yeah and the doctor said I was about 3 weeks a long.” Crystal said.

“Uh, yeah, no,” Mittens said. “A pregnancy test can only tell you that you’re pregnant, not how far you are. Even I know that and I …” He stopped.

The RMC tactfully changed the subject by saying: “Another one of those scene dividers. Take cover.”

The next day Crystal had gone to work because she had gone on the trip three weeks before graduating and getting her thing to become a doctor. The day before finding out she was going to have a baby Crystal had gotten the thing and she was a doctor now.

Mittens slumped against a convenient wall and slid down slowly. Sitting on the floor, he buried his head in his hands and made small whimpering noises. The RMC patted his arm and muttered soothingly.

Finally Mittens lifted his head. “I’m … okay. Sorry about this.”

“Shh. She’s the one who should be sorry. And she will be.”

Mittens nodded grimly and got to his feet. “We’ve been left behind again.”

“I watched the words and we didn’t miss much. The chupacabra is back, the brothers are still incompetent and the idiocies won’t stop piling up, but no real new charges. But we have to watch the scene that comes right after Dean and Sam going for drinks and Sam getting drunk.

Mittens nodded again and opened a portal to right outside Sam and Crystal’s bedroom.

When Dean left to his room Sam woke Crystal and started calling her Jessica his dead girlfriends name and she tried to move from under him and he hit her in the face. She screamed and Dean ran into the room and moved him off her, then took him to another room. Crystal ran to the door and locked it she stayed up for a while but then fell asleep.

The next morning Sam begged Crystal for forgiveness, but she was angry and left for her mother’s house. Dean yelled at Sam and then they followed the Sue, which left the agents alone in the house.

“So,” Mittens said, “right out of nowhere, Sam decides to get drunk, then he calls Crystal Jessica’s name, but then he attacks her. Is he possessed?”

“No,” said the RMC who had looked ahead in the Words.

“A shape shifter? Is the real Sam tied up somewhere?”


Mittens thought some more. “Mind control of some sort?”


“Okay, I give up. What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing. Everything. This is bad storytelling at its worse. The scene we just witnessed was simply an attempt to inject drama into their happy domesticity. And you wanna know the worst part?”

“Not really, no.”

“In a few paragraphs, he will save her mother’s life, the Sue will forgive him and it will all have been rendered completely pointless and never be mentioned again.”

Mittens got an exasperate expression. “But whyyy?” he asked with almost a whine.

The RMC shrugged and downed a few more Bleeprin. Having no answer to give, it handed the bottle back to Mittens, who took a handful himself, before opening a portal so they could go back to watching the fic.

Crystal was now 8 months along and she was so happy that her baby was going to be born in a week and that was the last day of the 8 month. Crystal was going to give birth in 2 days.

“I would previously have judged the Sue’s knowledge of basic human biology and medicine to be at zero,” the RMC remarked. “Which means that she’s now going into negative numbers. Same goes for her grasp of basic math.”

In a few paragraphs the baby, Elisabeth Winchester, was born and mother and child were sent home from the hospital just an hour and a half later.

The baby was put in the nursery and everyone went to sleep, but Crystal woke up the next morning to the smell of smoke and the sound of the baby crying.

“Is the yellow-eyed demon back for Crystal?” asked Mittens, sounding hopeful.

“Nah, that would, you know, indicate that the Sue has actually watched more than two episodes of Supernatural.”

The fire was put out and no one was hurt, but Sam still had a meltdown.

“I’m sorry but this is happening because of me I’m going to leave.” Sam said running out of the room.

Crystal cried and then called Dean to ask him to find Sam. By this point Dean was so incompetent, that his ‘searching’ simply meant trying to call Sam’s cell phone. Whether he would actually have done anything useful was doubtful, but never put to the test since Sam showed up at Dean’s place. Crystal came by and they kissed and made up.

“Making this whole thing totally pointless, once again,” as the RMC noted.

What happened next was that some kind of entity tried to get close to Elisabeth, but was dispatched by Sam in a few sentences. It was not brought up again. Following naturally after the other completely random events, Sam and Crystal randomly bought a new house and moved in.

The agents went with them to the new house, where they made themselves relatively comfortable under the kitchen table. Here they could watch most of the story unfold, safe from the frequent downpours of scene dividers.

Crystal found out that she was expecting again, by repeating the pregnancy-test-fail from earlier, down to the fact that she was three weeks pregnant.

One month there was a creature in there house and Crystal was running with Sam trying to kill it. Then Crystal tripped over something and fell down the stairs.
Sam killed the thing and drove Crystal to the hospital.
They ran some test and they told her that she had lost the baby.

Mittens took out his crossbow and absent-mindedly started checking it. “It’s just more fake, boring, inconsequential drama. I’m pretty sure we have enough charges. Can’t we kill her now and get it over with?”

“All right, I’ll take a look at the Words and see if there are any minis or anything we need to pick up.” The RMC was silent for a few moments. Then it simply said: “Oh.”


“Oh,” the RMC repeated but didn’t elaborate.

Mittens didn’t ask. He started taking out the crossbow bolts one by one and running his thumb over the tips to check how pointy they were.

The next day Kathy took Elisabeth to Crystal since her mother was sick. On her way to Crystal’s house Kathy was hurt something came in front of her and she had a car accident she crashed into a tree and got hit on the head luckily Elisabeth was not hurt she didn’t have a scratch on her.

“I just had a thought,” Mittens began. “If the sister is named Kathy and the poster is named KitKat and the Sue is named Crystal and the author of this atrocity is the sister of the poster, do you think we’re actually dealing with a self-insert?”

“Most likely, but the evidence is too circumstantial for us to make a charge. Hm. According to Kathy something jumped on the car and that was what caused her accident.”

“Another monster?”

The RMC sighed. “I wish it would stop. It’s bad enough with all the dull family stuff, but every time the Sue brings in monsters, she’s reminding us that this is supposed to be Supernatural.”

Mittens dug around in the backpack and found a bag of insta-popcorn, which he started munching on with a gloomy expression. The RMC also had a snack consisting of some stray punctuation it had saved from an earlier mission.

The characters came home, went to bed and once again Crystal was woken by the sound of Elisabeth being in danger. Since that particular plot device had already been done to death in the fic, Mittens was a bit surprised when the RMC said: “Finally, something new. This is what we stayed to witness.”

They got up and went upstairs to watch the scene.

Sam ran into the nursery after Crystal and saw a man holding Elisabeth and holding a knife to Crystal’s throat. A moment later the man dragged them out the window even though they were on the second floor and all three disappeared without a trace.

Sam and Dean searched the room for evidence and found a gold chain with a circled diamond one the ground.

“I’ve seen that before but not on Crystal or the baby on some man at the supermarket who always wears a black sweater with a hood on.” Sam said looking at the chain know it was that weird mans thing. He didn’t know where the man lived so he went to the supermarket to try and find out where he lived.

A few paragraphs of supremely lame detective work later, the brothers had the man’s address, which turned out to be the house right across from Sam’s.

The brothers went there, broke down the door, saved Crystal and Elisabeth from the man and had him arrested.

“Sam what the hell was that all why would he take the baby?” She asked not knowing why he took Elisabeth because she knew her took her to rap her.

“Trivializing attempted rape, to the point where she can’t even be bothered to spell it right,” said Mittens, who had taken advantage of the confusion to pocket the gold chain with the diamond as a souvenir. He scratched his chin with the end of the pen. “So was that guy a demon or something?”


“Then how did he manage to drag a woman and a baby out of a second floor window without everyone breaking their necks?”

“The idiocy in that scene was so thick, it probably cushioned their fall.”

Crystal was briefly interviewed by two detectives, before going home. The next morning she went to work and a couple of disposable girlfriends of hers were introduced into the story. The agents neuralyzed one of them, who wasn’t going to show up again anyway.

“Cameos by real life friends?” asked Mittens.

The RMC never got around to answering since the two detectives showed up again, this time to ask Crystal if Elisabeth was really Sam’s child, which caused her to leave in a huff.

Sam picked her up from work and she told him what the detectives had asked. Sam was as shocked as she was and suggested that they went to the station to confront Detectives Benson and Stabler and demand an explanation.

“I want to know why you asked me who the father of my child was.” She said looking at her.
“Well I was wondering why a man would attack out of the blue. Then say that the women he attacked baby was his.” She said explaining why she asked that.
“Well… its… true.” She said with tires coming down her cheeks.
Sam went in to the room enraged. “What… how could you this to me you… you.”

“What the teacup!?” exclaimed Mittens, which earned him a bemused look from the RMC. He stared at the scene in front of them, the furious Sam and Crystal, who had small rubber tires rolling down her face, giving new meaning to the phrase ‘tear tracks’. “Okay, so she seems to have cheated on him and passed the baby off as his; at this point I’m not the least bit surprised. But why tell him about the detectives’ question? Why agree to confront them, when she knew all along that they were right? It’s just so …” he grasped for a word. “It’s so extremely improbable,” he finished.

Sam and Crystal went home and the Sue started to explain herself.

“Ok, ok this is what you remember my ex right you know Luis?”
“Yeah what does he have to do with anything?”

“Oh, Sam,” the RMC sighed. “You really are dense in this story.”

“That’s him he changed his name but trust me that is him, I was mad that had not gone home for 5 days when you went on one of your trips with Dean and I hurt myself so he help me we started to talk and then it happened. But also remember I was mad at you.” She said walking away from him.

“Did she just blame him for her cheating on him?” asked Mittens incredulously.

“Oh, yes. And he’s buying it. I think now would be a good time to break out the next bottle of Bleeprin.”

“Oh then… I still don’t know why you didn’t tell me why you didn’t tell me she was not mine.” He said getting up and moving away from her.
“Sam I don’t know I thought this was how you going to react of course I was not going to tell you.” She said turning around and whipping her cheek.

“And she also just blamed him for her lying! Because he would get mad! Which he has every right in the world to be!” Mittens swallowed a handful of pills before passing the bottle to the RMC.

“I love you and I love Elisabeth I don’t care if she’s not mine.” He said holding her tight as she cried.
“I love you too. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness but you still gave it to me.” She said crying into Sam’s chest.
“But Crystal how do you really know it’s his did you take the paternity test?” Sam said wondering if she could still be his.
“That’s true how about I get Lourdes to do it tomorrow at 3 witch is mine and her lunch time.” She said wondering if there was hope of her being his.

Both agents just groaned at this.

The next day some sort of unspecified test was done and the day after that Crystal picked up the results. The agents neuralized Lourdes and then followed the Sue home, where she was reading the results with Sam there.

“You are… the father!” She said giving him the biggest hug in the world. She was so excited to know that he was the real father.
“Sam did you hear me?” She said looking at her boyfriend seeing that he made no movement or showing any emotions.
“Ahhhhhhh Sam please says something!” She screamed and she looked at her hand and saw that there was blood on her hand.
“Sam?” She said.
She saw something behind the where they where sitting, it was Luis. He jumped on her and they where on the floor.
“No one will know that I am not the father if they don’t see the test.” He took it from her and was about to rip it but he was knocked out.
“Don’t ever touch her or me.” Sam had gotten up even though he was hurt he managed to hit the guy.
“Crystal do me a favor?” He said looking up at her.
“What’s that?” She said.
“Call an ambulance.” He said before he passed out.

“What … did I just watch?” asked Mittens. “I mean, what just happened?”

“We should intervene here,” the RMC said. “She’s planning to stitch him up herself.”


She got the phone and called the police. She can take care of her own man.

“Uh, yeah, no,” said a voice behind her.

Crystal turned and saw a young man, whose most remarkable feature was the fact that he was pointing a crossbow at her.

“Put down that needle and step away from Sam,” the man continued.

A young woman, who looked like she might be the young man’s sister, went over, bent down over Sam and felt his pulse. “I’ll send him to Medical and get them to patch him up,” she said. She took out a pen and some paper and wrote a note, which she stuffed down Sam’s shirt. Then she started fiddling with some kind of mechanism and a moment later, there was a blue glow and Sam disappeared. Crystal gave a scream and tried to lunge at the woman but a bolt hit her in the thigh and she fell to the floor with a cry. Then she felt a foot on her back.

“Quiet,” the man said.

There was a knock on the front door.

“Must be the police,” said the woman. “I’ll go take care of them.” She left.

Crystal thought about screaming for help, but the foot pressed down threateningly.

A few moments later the woman returned. “Well, that was convenient,” she said. “It was Detectives Benson and Stabler, so now they’re taken care of.”

“What did you do to them?” asked the man.

“I neuralyzed them. They were actually okay cops and I suspect once they’re free of the Suefluence they can be quite good, so there’s nothing to keep them from assimilating into the canon. We can do the same with Kathy and the mother.”

“We can?”

“Yes. They haven’t really done anything, except aiding and abetting a Sue, but they seem like normal people. Once they forget about Crystal, they can also become background characters.”

“So that just leaves Luis,” said the man.

“Yeah.” The woman paused. “Can’t melt into the canon and I really don’t feel like recruiting him.” She sauntered over to the still unconscious Luis, bent down and said: “Luis, you’re charged with being a crazy, violent ex and wanna-be rapist and with performing an impossible kidnapping. Your sentence is death. Mittens, do your thing.”

There was a ‘thunk’ sound and then a bolt was sticking out from Luis’ neck. Crystal whimpered.

Then the man, whose name seemed to be Mittens, started talking. “Crystal, as agents of the PPC we hereby charge you with the following: Crimes against the English language, that are many in number and heinous in nature, not least the use of weapons grade scene dividers. Posting your second chapter twice and in place of your third. Writing a fic filled with boring domestic scenes, where the Winchesters were so bland that if it wasn’t for the names, we wouldn’t have any idea who they were supposed to be. Interjecting said domesticity with random overblown drama, all of which was both badly handled and inconsequential. You are also charged with the fact that any time you sent the Winchesters on something resembling a hunt, you made them so incompetent that they seemed to be too dumb to eat a sandwich. While it is not a charge to make your story up as you go along, it is definitely a charge to ignore what you have previously written in favour of chasing some new stupid idea, so we’re charging you with that as well.

You are also charged with claiming to be first a last-year med student and later a doctor and yet you haven’t the slightest grasp of medicine or biology. You are charged with criminal negligence towards a person in your care, resulting in said person’s death.”

“That wasnt my fault Sam said so himself.” Answered Crystal with a shocked look on her face.

This earned her a vicious kick to the ribs. “Learn some SPaG!” He cleared his throat. “You are charged with cheating on Sam and blaming him for it and with passing Elisabeth off as his daughter and then blaming him for your lie. You are an awful, awful person.

You are also charged with … You know what, I’m not even going to read the rest of the list. Any one of the points I have already mentioned would be enough to condemn you. You are a revolting, detestable Sue and your punishment is death! My only regret is that you have to be dead when we salt and burn you, but that doesn’t mean that you will get off easily. I have something very special in mind for you.”


“Well, that was even more satisfying than I had imagined it would be,” said Mittens, dumping the drained and mutilated body of the Sue next to Luis.

“I agree,” said the RMC. “It was both entertaining and enlightening. Very interesting to find out what a chupacabra looks like in this canon. I wonder if they will ever get around to feature one in the series.”

Mittens took out the salt and the gasoline from the backpack and started pouring them on the bodies.

The RMC moved back a little. “Why don’t you do that and I’ll go find Dean and the two bits and neuralyze them. Then you can grab the baby and take her to the Nursery and I’ll meet you there.”

“The baby?” Mittens turned and looked at the crib where Elisabeth was lying, apparently sleeping through it all. “Can’t she stay here? If you tell Kathy that she is her daughter …”

“No. She’s a child of a canon character and she has to go.”

“Well, um, okay then. See you.”

The RMC portalled out and Mittens poured the salt, lit a match and threw it on the bodies. They caught fire almost at once. He turned to the crib. “Okay,” he said to himself. “You can do this.”

He bent down and looked at Elisabeth, who was still sleeping. He poked her with a finger and she opened her eyes and looked up at him. She didn’t look dangerous. He reached down and lifted her up, dimly recalling something about how you were supposed to support a baby’s head. He held her firmly against his body so he could get one hand free to work the RA. Smoke and heat started to fill the room and Elisabeth made an unhappy noise.

“Shh,” Mittens said while pressing the coordinates back to HQ. “I’m here, you’re safe.” The portal opened and he stepped through.

Thank you to Rats and Phobos for betaing this.

”Transferred?” the Radioactive Moss Creature repeated.

Mittens nodded. “We’re supposed to go and see the …” He checked the screen again. “The Reannual Grape Vine.”

The RMC thought about this for a moment, then decided that the best course of action would be to shrug (figuratively) and go with it. “Which office?”

“Number 57.”

Mittens had only knocked once when a telepathic voice, sounding rather impatient, said: Yes, yes. Do come in.

Maybe wandering backwards through the corridors of HQ had taken longer than they had thought and they were now late. But the message hadn’t specified a time and anyway, he had no idea what time it was, since he hadn’t seen a clock since he came to the PPC. Still, back in Hell, reasons like that would not have stopped anyone from punishing him for being late, so it was with a feeling of unease that he pushed the door open.

They entered a small office, kept neat in spite of the fact that it was packed with crates and cardboard boxes. Behind the desk sat the Sentient Reannual Grape Vine. It was wearing a robe and a hat with the word ‘Wizzard’ embroidered on it. Small clusters of unripe grapes could been seen amidst its leaves.

, it said, in a brisk voice. My new Agents. Welcome to the Department.

The agents looked at each other, looked down and shuffled their feet or feet analogues a bit. Finally the RMC said: “Pardon me, but what Department would that be? The message didn’t specify …” It let the sentence trail off.

The Reannual didn’t look surprised. The Department of Improbabilities. We used to be The Department of Ah, Hell Naw! but people objected to the name. Anyway, it’s not surprising that you haven’t heard of us. We were never big in terms of numbers and we tend to get a bit overshadowed by the Department of WhatThe. I haven’t had agents ask to get transferred to this Department in a decade and this is the first time in years that Personnel has actually sent someone here, so you will understand why I was eager to meet with you at once. Now, to answer your question …

“I’m sorry,” the RMC interrupted, as politely as possible. “What question would that be?”

The question you just asked of course.

“But we didn’t ask a question,” the RMC insisted.

Didn’t you? Oh, dear. The Reannual looked slightly flustered. I accidentally started answering your question before you had asked it. It happens sometimes. You were going to ask me what this Department does, exactly. We deal with fics that contain elements that are highly unlikely, but not on the level of brainbreaking WTF. So we don’t get your typical clichéd thirteen-a-dozen Sues. But something like that eight year old Tenth Walker you took care of would have fitted nicely.

“You’ve read our reports?” Mittens asked.

Well, technically, no, I haven’t read them and won’t get around to it until this afternoon. But for the sake of getting this conversation to make sense, let’s just say that I have. I wanted to know who my new agents were. What you’re good at. Whether you own a flamethrower. According to your reports, you’ve performed … adequately. I’m sure you’ll do this Department proud. Or at least not embarrass it. Though I really don’t see how you could do that, since hardly anyone know we exist.

It mused about this for a moment, then continued. One last thing, before you go. Would one of you be so kind as to ask the question?

“What question?” asked Mittens.

Oh, not that again. The question I answered just a moment ago.

“But,” said the RMC, “you already know what it is. You’ve already answered it.”

Answering the question before it gets asked is all fine and good, the Reannual replied. But answering a question which then never gets asked violates the laws of Time and can disturb the fabric of causality.

Mittens tried to think back and remember this exact wording. “So what does this Department do, exactly?” he asked.

Thank you, said the Reannual. I’ll let you get back to work. Good luck. And it waved a stalk dismissively.

[Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke. The PPC belongs to Jay and Acacia; I’m only playing in it. ‘Daughter Of A Winchester‘ belongs to Fallen Angel and I do not want it. Mittens and the Radioactive Moss Creature are mine.]

Mittens was distracted from his search for the biscuits, by the console giving its familiar ear-splitting BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!! He pressed the button and started to read.
“It’s a Supernatural-fic,” he said, after a moment, “the full title is ‘Daughter Of A Winchester (Will Become an Andy Biersack Love Story!)’. It’s written in first person, so we’ll need the dummy. And there’s a mini in the summary.”
“You should stay here,” the Radioactive Moss Creature said to Saxo and James. “You’re fully fledged agents now. No doubt, there’ll be another mission along for you soon.” They looked like they wanted to object, so it added: “Anyway, Christmas is near and we haven’t had time to decorate. You can do that.”
“So,” Mittens said, eyeing their rather extensive weapons collection with a thoughtful look, “would the crossbow be canon?”
The RMC gave a sound that could have been a laugh, converted into a cough. “They used a Christmas tree as a weapon once. Bring whatever you feel could be useful. Also, lots of salt and some kerosene.”
“We don’t have any of that.”
“We don’t? Then we’ll have to pick it up in the fic.”
Mittens packed their backpack, set the disguise generator to ordinary humans and programmed the portal.
They threw the dummy in first and stepped though after it.

They were in prefic nothingness. Mittens turned on a torch, knowing from experience that gathering charges from Author’s Notes and prologues in pitch darkness was a pain.
There was a bark. He looked down. Then further down.
The dog wagged its tail.
He stared, then turned to the RMC, who was also staring.
“Is that a … a …Is that Winchster from the summary? What kind of mini is it?”
The dog wagged its tail harder and barked again at the mentioning of its name.
“It must be a mini-Hell Hound,” said the RMC.
“By why does it look like that?”
“Well … It is never shown what the real Hell Hounds look like, so I suppose it is within the realm of possibilities, that the mini-version is a,” it hesitated for a moment, “a Yorkshire Terrier.”
The Yorkshire Terrier wagged its tail some more. It had a little purple bow between the ears.
There was a pause, then Mittens shrugged. “A mini is a mini.” He picked up the small dog. It tried to lick his face and he giggled, before placing it in the backpack.
The fic started, not with an Author’s Note or a Disclaimer, but with a character sheet.

Full Name: Raven Natasha Winchester

Age: 11 (she’ll get older as the story progresses)

A picture of a girl floated through the darkness, startling both agents, before it disappeared again.
“That must be one of the features of the Circle of Lemmings,” said the RMC.
“Is it dangerous?” asked Mittens.
“I don’t think it’s any more dangerous, than things like punctuation rains and unmarked scene changes.”

Personality: People She Doesn’t Know: Shy, Quiet, Adorable. People She Does Know: Funny, Sarcastic, Outgoing, Snarky, Witty, Sweet, Can Win Almost Any Argument, Is Known To Stay Quiet For Long Periods Of Time, Very Protecteve.

“That Is One Of The …” The RMC paused, then cleared its throat. “Sorry. It seems to be catching. That is one of the worst instances of telling, not showing, I have ever had the misfortune to witness. Charge.”
Mittens rummaged in the backpack for Bleeprin and giggled again, when Winchster licked his hand. “I’m also charging for crimes against capitalization and spelling.”
“And I suppose, we’ll have to inform the Department of Redundancy Department.”

Status: Hunter, Bird Kid (Idea stolen off of Maximum Ride), psychic

Hobbies: Hunting, Shooting, Skate Boarding, Flying and Messing with people’s minds

“What’s a Bird Kid?” asked Mittens.
“Something from another book, which has absolutely nothing to do with Supernatural.”

The character sheet was then followed by a back story. It explained how Dean Winchester, at the age of 15, had gotten another 15-year-old, Natasha Rivers, pregnant and how she had died after giving birth.
The RMC scoffed. “With the number of Sue-mothers who die giving birth, you would think that they all live in the Dark Ages, not in the modern world, where these things are very rare, thankfully.”

There was something wrong with the baby.

“You don’t say,” Mittens said, absent-mindedly, while checking his gun.

She  had been born with little, black, dawny wings. It turns out that Natasha was being experimented on by an underground science facility to earn some extra cash.

There was the sound of two palms hitting two foreheads.
“I don’t even know where to start,” said Mittens.
“Neither do I. The whole thing is just so idiotic. Underground facilities do not experiment on anyone, although the people in them might do so. And ‘to earn some extra cash’? It makes it sound like she got extra pocket money for mowing the lawn.”
Mittens handed a couple of Bleeprin to the RMC and also took some himself.
The infodump continued by explaining that John Winchester had taken Raven in as his own daughter, until she was five years old, when she had been told the truth.
“She might as well be going through a check-list,” said the RMC, while Mittens scribbled furiously to get all the charges.

She turned out to be a little girl genius at the I.Q. of 360.

“Firstly,” said the RMC, “charge her with giving herself an absurdly high IQ, despite clearly not having any idea how an IQ score works. Secondly, charge her with insulting the honourable Agatha Heterodyne, by calling herself that.”
“There’s a another chapter coming up.”
“And thirdly, charge for having a whole chapter consisting of a character sheet.”

Dean and I pulled up outside Sammy’s apartment complex and pulled to a soft stop.

Mittens made a mark next to the charge for redundancy, happy to have firm ground under his feet once again.
The dummy settled into a blond girl with blue eyes; she was sitting next to Dean. She had some kind of odd pink-orangeish light, in the colours of a sunrise, shimmering on her back. It might have been pretty, if not for the fact that it, at the same time, tried to be black.
Mittens tilted his head. “I suppose that’s her ‘dawny, black wings’ shining though her clothes.”
The Sue explained that she called her dad ‘Dean’ and John ‘Dad’.
“So in reality, she’s an ordinary Winchester-little-sister-Sue, with a convoluted back story,” remarked the RMC.
Mittens looked round. “This is from the beginning of the pilot episode,” he said. The complete lack of description meant, that their surroundings defaulted to canon, but the colours looked a bit pale. “If they leave the car unattended, we can get some salt and kerosene from it.”
“I think we’d better not,” said the RMC. “I can’t remember if they already have the devil’s trap in the trunk, but if they do, we don’t want to trigger it.”
“Why …” began Mittens. Then he stopped and his eyes went big. “Oh,” he said.
“I see you catch my drift.”
“Wasn’t it a bad idea for the Flowers to send us here, then?”
The RMC shrugged. “I suspect, that if we get the disadvantages, we also get the perks.”

We climbed out of the impala, and snuck inside the complex.

The lack of capitalization caused the car to turn into an antelope. The agents winced in sympathy as the two people climbed out of it. It looked painful.

I pick-lock my way in, and I listened for the thoughts or dreams of Sammy. Yeah, I’m a psychic. It helps a lot. Like, I can here people’s thoughts, make them see or think what I want them to see or think, and I can even make people do what I want them to do. Not only is it useful, but it’s also really fun. Do you know how many times I’ve gotten out of cleaning the motel room?

“That’s just wrong,” said the RMC. “You don’t use your psychic powers on your friends and family like that.”
“Charging. Also for crimes against grammar, punctuation and tenses.” Mittens stopped writing and lowered the notebook. “Can she hear our thoughts?”
“Maybe, but she seems to be focused on Sam, so we’re probably safe for now.”
In the fic, Raven hid, while Dean and Sam got into a brawl as per canon.

I watched them go at it for awhile (A/N: I just realised how dirty that sounded>D) and finally it ended with Dean on top. (A/N: That sounded dirty too! :3)

The RMC glared. “This is a Suefic. You’d think, we would at least be free of Wincest.”

“Or not,” I said reviling myself.

“You got it wrong,” said Mittens. “Reviling is what we’re doing to you.”
Dean told Sam that their father hadn’t been home for a few days.

Dean wasn’t getting through to him so I stepped in. Okay first you should know that I may be able to read his thoughts, I can’t do any other mind tricks on Sammy. It’s just weird. I’m telling you this so you don’t think Well, why don’t you just compel him to go with you?

“So the only reason,” the RMC said, more acidly with every word, “you don’t force your uncle-brother to leave his life and girlfriend, drag him back into something, he has made it very clear, he wants no part in and make him risk his life, is because you can’t. You are a horrible person. And it’s an extra charge for assuming that everyone else are horrible persons as well.” It turned to Mittens. “If she can’t compel Sam, it’s probably because of the demon part of him. That’s lucky for us.”

“Dad’s on a hunting trip, and he hasn’t been home in a few days,”

Mittens facepalmed. “That’s exactly what Dean was going to say. Not only is she stealing lines, she’s making the canons look like idiots, who can’t speak for themselves.” He grabbed the Bleeprin and chewed moodily on a couple of pills. Then he looked at the RMC. “She’s just going to insert herself into the pilot episode, steal lines and not add anything but rubbish, isn’t she?”
“Ayup!” the RMC replied with false cheerfulness, having had a brief look at the Words ahead of them. It swallowed a couple of Bleeprin, looked at the bottle of pills, shrugged and swallowed some more.

They followed the canons and the Sue outside and settled down to watch behind a parked car.
Sam and Dean were arguing in lines taken more or less straight from the canon, but with added spelling mistakes. The Sue didn’t have any lines; instead she was making mental comments on everything the brothers said.

“I’m not,” Sam said much more calmly. Told you.
“Why not?” Dean asked raising his eyebrows. Well ain’t that a stupid question?

Obnoxious mental comments.
“Can we kill her now?” asked Mittens.
“No. Sorry.”
Raven told Sam that she wouldn’t give up being a hunter for anything.
The RMC scoffed. “She’s supposed to have an IQ of 360 and yet she wants nothing more than to run credit card scams and drive around killing monsters. I’m starting to think, there’s a zero too much in that number. We might be doing more or less the same, but at least we get paid and we recognise, that this isn’t the best job in the world.”

“So dad was taking out this two lane balck top just outside of Jerico, California. About a month ago this guy. They found his car but he’d vanished completely MIA.”

“Bleeprin?” asked Mittens.
“Don’t mind if I do.”

I slowed the message down, ran though a goldwave(?)

“If you don’t know what it is, why don’t you look it up!?” snapped Mittens. “It would have stopped you looking like an even greater moron than you already do.”
The RMC snatched the extra punctuation and started chewing on the quotation mark, stuffing the parentheses into its pocket for later.

The chapter ended with Sam wishing Raven a happy twelfth birthday.
“Speaking of which,” said the RMC. “How does the math add up?”
Mittens did a quick calculation, jotting down numbers in the note book, scratching his head and redoing them. Finally he said: “It doesn’t. This is 2005 and if she has just turned 12, she should have been born in 1993, but Dean is 26, so he wouldn’t have turned 15 until 1994.”
“Which means, that he couldn’t have been 15 when she was born, much less when she was conceived. Thank you. Make a charge for failing at basic math, resulting in under-age characters having sex.”

In the next chapter the canons were on the road, but had stopped for food. Since there were no more mentions of any impalas, they were now driving in a proper car.

I skipped inside and grabbed everything that was appeiling(SP?) Being a bird kid, you burn a lot of calories fast. So I have to eat a lot. Being a bird kid is also why I’m so tall. Sometimes people are all like, You could be a model! And I’m just like, Me. A model? You sir/ma’m owe me a new lung!

“So that’s what all that bird kid nonsense was about,” said the RMC, pocketing some more punctuation marks. “Being really tall and being able to eat lots of food without getting fat.”

But seriously, being tall can be pretty annoying. I’ve been hit on by a sixteen year old boy once.

“Why do Sues want to be tall and thin if it’s such a bother?” Mittens mused.
“Sues don’t want to be tall and thin, that would be shallow. They just are and they can’t help it. It’s almost like a curse. Trajeck, really.”
Both agents sniggered.

“Oh yeah? And what names did you put on the application this time?”
“Um, Burdafromniam(?), his son Hector, and grandaughter Lesely,” I said with my mouth full.

There was a small ‘pop’ and the mini-Hell Hound Burdafromniam appeared. It was also a Yorkshire Terrier, but rather than its fur being long and smooth, it was in tight curls.
“It has an afro,” Mittens said incredulously.
“Let’s just be grateful that ‘Lesely’ didn’t get us a mini-Sue.”
“What’s a grandaughter, anyway?” Mittens asked, picking up the mini-Hell Hound. “The daughter of his gran?”
“Probably has something to do with her unlikely family circumstances, which means that none of us wants to know.”

“Scored three cards out of the deal.”

“Do they issue credit cards to twelve-year-olds?” asked Mittens.
Sam started going through Dean’s ‘caset tape collection‘.

Black Sabbeth? Moter Head? Metallica?

The agents blinked.
“One out of three,” the RMC said, falsely cheerful. “That’s not … Actually, it’s horrible. You call yourself a fan, you star in a fanfic and you can’t even be bothered to look up the names of Dean’s favourite bands!?”
Mittens handed it some more Bleeprin and wrote the charge. Then he made a mental note to snatch the tapes. They would make a nice souvenir and besides, he was a bit curious as to how the music sounded.

There was a new chapter. The brothers and the Sue arrived at the bridge where the scene with the police officers was to take place.
Sam and Dean got out their fake IDs, but Raven had to stay in the car. Sam had promised her that she could get her own fake ID when she turned fifteen, by which time she would be able to pass for someone in her early twenties.
Mittens leafed back through the notebook. “What happened to her ability to make people ‘see or think what I want them to see or think, and I can even make people do what I want them to do’?”
“Either she has forgotten about her special powers already or she’s too lazy to describe the following scene and this is her way of skipping it.”
“If she just stays in the car, can we go watch the canon scene?”
The RMC checked the Words and frowned. “She texts her friend and … Never mind, I’ll keep an eye on her, you can go watch.”
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
“Mittens, you’ll be standing right over there. I think I’ll be safe.”
So the RMC was handed the notebook and stayed to watch the Sue, who was texting her best friend Nick, who was ‘Bobby’s nephew and practically my brother‘.

Me: Damn it!
Him: Damn what?
Me: I have to stay in the car again!
Him: And I should care why?
Me: Dick.
Him: Meanie.

“So that’s the kind of conversation a girl genius, with an IQ of 360, has with her best friend,” the RMC muttered to itself.

Yeah, him and I have our own little name calling thingy. You know? Kind of like the one Sam and Dean have?

“No, it’s nothing like that. For one thing, their conversations are actually funny. I would charge you with stealing, except that you seem to have left empty-handed.”
Mittens returned, for which the RMC was grateful. Talking to itself felt kind of uncomfortable. It made it remember being locked up, alone.
“’Thanks, that’s awfully kind of you,’” Mittens quoted, with a chuckle.
The RMC smiled. “Hope you enjoyed it. I doubt we’ll be seeing much intact canon. Now, on to the next chapter.”

Name: Nickoli Thomas Singer

Age: 13 (He will also get older as the story prgresses)

A picture of Nick floated past them and disappeared.

Personality: People He Doesn’t Know: Vague, Quiet, Feirce.

“All three things at once?” Mittens mused.

People He Does Know: Sarcastic, Childish, Bubbly, Funny, Witty, Smart, Very Protective.

“You know,” the RMC said, looking up, as if addressing someone outside the Word World, “repeatedly stating that your characters are witty does not make them so. You have to actually write witty lines for them.”

Hobbies: Reading, Writing, Researching, Playing Computer Games, Hanging Out With Raven, Skate Boarding.

“Raven’s hobbies did not include ‘hanging out with Nick’,” said Mittens, who had started a new chargelist for Nick by writing on the last pages of the notebook.
“Almost enough to make you feel bad for him. Almost.”

His parents died when he was young by a poltergyste.

Both agents sniggered.
“I wonder what a ‘poltergyste’ is,” said Mittens.
“Obviously a bilingual pun, since ‘gyste’ is Danish for ‘shivered in fear’.”

So, his Uncle Bobby on his dad’s side took him in.

“So,” the RMC said, “he is both a non-canonical nephew and foster son to Bobby Singer. That’s like our Sue being both daughter and little sister to Dean.”

Half of his feels for Raven are like brother sister. The other half, however, is like feelings feelings, you know?

“Such eloquence in the description of luw and friendsheep,” said the RMC and downed another couple of Bleeprin. It checked the Words again. “They’re heading into town. You’ll watch the action for any more charges, I’ll go buy salt and kerosene.”

In the next chapter, Raven spelled Modesto as ‘Madesto(SP)‘ and Mittens aggravated the charge for knowingly spelling words wrong, then scooped up the punctuation marks for the RMC.

This one girl, she got murdered out on Centenial.

Mittens picked up the new mini-Hell Hound, Centenial, and placed it in the backpack with the others.
The RMC returned carrying a couple of shopping bags. Besides large quantities of salt and kerosene, it had bought chocolate and other goodies.“Anything interesting?”
Mittens shook his head. “Not really. They’re going to the library.”

Raven upstaged the brothers once again, by being the one who guessed, that they should search for articles about a suicide victim.

“This was 1918. Constance Welch, 24 years old jumps off Sylvainia Bridge and drowns in the river.”

“You fail at numbers as well as letters,” Mittens muttered, then bent to pick up Sylvainia the mini-Hell Hound. It barked in agreement, before being placed in the bag with the others.

An hour before they find her, she calls 911.

“In 1918? You fail at history as well,” said Mittens.

It was the same bridge that the cops were all over. So, that night we headed over there.

The RMC checked the Words ahead of them. “There’s some more copying the canon and except for the fact that she apparently enjoys watching the Winchesters argue, there are no new charges.” It frowned. “She uses her wings for the first time, but nothing comes of it. She just flies away from the possessed car. There’s a mini we need to pick up, but other than that, we can skip ahead.”
Mittens nodded and opened a portal.

That Constence chick, what a bitch!

Mittens picked up Constence and placed her in the backpack with the other minis.

Thank you Captian Obvious.

The RMC shifted both shopping bags to one hand, so it could use the other to pinch the bridge of its nose. “How do you manage to spell ‘captain’ wrong, but ‘obvious’ right?” it demanded.

Then the lack of a new paragraph caused both agents to be whipped through time and space and land in a small heap outside a motel.
“Is it just me,” began Mittens, getting up and helping the RMC to its feet, “or has the SPaG gotten worse? Back there she spelled genius as ‘genious’.”
“We could be dealing with deteriorating writing, caused by an author getting bored with her work,” agreed the RMC. “We need to watch ourselves in that case.” It looked at the Words again. “Let’s skip ahead.”

They portalled to where the cops were coming to arrest Sam and take Raven into custody.

I didn’t mind control them because I was trying to work on not using my powers. It really drains me.

“You are so full of it,” Mittens muttered, while scribbling the new charge.

The agents followed  Dean, Raven and the sheriff to the station. Raven listened in on the sheriff and Dean’s conversation.

“You talking like Mistimener kind of trouble, or, ‘Squel like a Pig’ trouble?” Dean asked. I remember that movie!

“You got a reference to a grown-up movie,” said the RMC flatly. “How nice for you.” It turned. “Mittens, brace yourself.”

I almost got up and punched the sheriff’s stomach right on the spot.

With a jerk, that made the two agents stumble and almost fall, everything was pulled sideways and through a wall, as the Word World adjusted to the fact, that Raven was not listening in on the conversation; she was in the interrogation room with Dean and the sheriff. A moment later, she shifted back to being outside and the room followed. She then spend a bit of time in a sort of quantum uncertainty, where she was both in the room and outside it, before finally settling on being outside. Then the officers left the station and she went into the room again, but at least this time, she used the door. Both agents glared at her, nauseated by the many shifts.

I broke off the handcuffs with ease. I’m super strong like that.

“And it gets worse,” said the RMC gloomily, as the next chapter started.
Dean was calling Sam; Raven was ignoring the conversation, in favour of playing ‘pac man’ on her phone, until it got serious.

I walked over to the nearbye parking lot and hot wired a car.

“Much, much worse.”

We drove up the road and I saw the Impala in the far of distance, and thats with my super vision.

Mittens carefully split the rest of the bottle of Bleeprin between them and they both downed a large – but not big enough – handful of pills.
The whole climatic battle from the pilot episode was abridged to a few, clumsily worded paragraphs. After that came a few rushed chapters wrapping up the end of the episode and then a chapter consisting of nothing but an Auther’s Note.

So, just do you know, Raven doesn’t go on every hunt. She mostly just stays with Bobby and Nick until I decide her next hunt. But I’ll do chapters on her school life and stuff so you’ll be entertained.

“Sure,” said the RMC, when it was safe to remove one’s hands from one’s ears again. “What people really want to read in a Supernatural fic is stuff about some girl in middle school, with Sam and Dean being nowhere in sight.” It once again got the distant look, that meant it was looking ahead in the Words. This time the look stayed on for a very long time. “Oh no,” it said.
“Is it … bad?” Mittens ventured to ask. He actually shivered a little. Whatever could make the RMC go ‘oh no’ after everything else in the fic, had to be very bad.
“Oh, yes,” came the reply, followed by a long silence. Finally it said: “First it’s all about her going to school and being a weirdo and there are some kids being introduced, who are supposed to be her new friends.” Its voice started to loose its calm and got more agitated. “Then she just as suddenly goes back on a hunt. But it’s still partly about Nick, who is Andy Biersack or at least will be when he starts his band and …” It broke off its rant and had to take a couple of deep breaths. “I will not have it!” it shouted so suddenly and loudly that Mittens jumped. Then it stamped its foot, which would have been more effective, if they hadn’t been in the Author’s Note nothingness, where there wasn’t anything for its foot to connect with. “Mittens! Open a portal!”
“Um, of course. Whereto?”
“To the end of the pilot episode. We’re going to get her there.” It looked at Mittens, a furious glare in its eyes, he couldn’t remember having ever seen before and didn’t care to ever see again. “We are agents of the PPC, we protect canons from bad fanfic, but we are not obliged to police bad real-person fanfics, which is what this is becoming. Not to mention, that it gets really, really ugly. We are going back to the last time this was decidedly a Supernatural-fanfic and then we’ll shut it down.”
Mittens took a while fiddling with the RA. Opening a portal to a previous chapter was much more difficult because, if not done properly, they risked crossing their own time stream and meeting themselves, which would be embarrassing.
“Bobby and Nick are the only ones, who are mentioned in the fanfic part,” said the RMC, once again calm. “We’ll neuralyze Bobby and kill the kid. From the way he’s written later, I’m not inclined to offer him recruitment.”
Mittens nodded and pressed the final button to open the portal, that took them back to the scene at Breckenridge Road.

“So,” Mittens started once more fiddling with the Remote Activator, “now we separate her from the Winchesters?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“No?” Mittens looked up, surprised.
“I think, call it a hunch or what you will, that it’s actually better for the canon, if we can make the canon characters snap out of it on their own. I know, we don’t usually do it that way, but the Winchesters are hunters; they have experience with all sorts of weird stuff, including mind control. Maybe we can talk to them.”
“If you say so.”
“But keep the RA handy, just in case it doesn’t work out.”

Mittens and the RMC walked up to the two canons and the Sue, who were all still standing by the empty house.
“Sam and Dean Winchester?” said the RMC.
Both men turned.
“Yeah, that’s us,” Dean replied. “Who are you?”
“We are fellow hunters … of a sort.
“Really? What are your names?”
“This is Mithrades and I’m … Aniseed.”
Dean raised an eyebrow. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard of you. Where’ you from?”
“New Caledonia. And none of that matters. We are here to warn you about a very dangerous monster, that is stalking you.”
“What kind of monster?” asked Sam.
“Her.” The RMC pointed at Raven, who simply looked confused.
“If that’s a joke, it’s a very bad one,” said Dean. “If it’s not a joke, then let me tell you, that you are barking up the entirely wrong tree and I think you should leave and never come near my daughter again.”
“She’s not your daughter, she has simply manipulated you into thinking she is.”
Dean scoffed. “Bullshit!”
“Why? You know that she has the ability to manipulate people’s minds and she has never hesitated to use it on you.”
Dean opened his mouth, closed it again, looked at Raven, then at Sam, who looked equally confused, and finally back at the two agents. “Look, I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but she is my daughter, I know it.”
“You should go,” said Raven.
The RMC turned to look at her coldly. “I’m afraid that your jedi mind trick does not work on us,” it said and turned back to Dean. “What was her favourite toy, when she was little?”
Dean hesitated. “A teddy bear,” he said finally.
“Is that something you know or are you just guessing? What’s the name of her school?”
“I … I know it. I just can’t remember it right now.”
Mittens, who had been quiet until now, pointed at Raven. “What clothes are she wearing?”
They all turned to look at Raven. Unlike many other Sues, she had completely neglected to describe her outfit and was therefore wearing Generic Clothing. Until now it had defaulted to a sort of jeans-and-a-t-shirt outfit, but under the sudden scrutiny, it melted into something grey and foggy.
“She’s standing right there,” Mittens pressed on. “What is she wearing?”
“I don’t know,” Dean muttered. He was staring at Raven, as if he was seeing her for the first time, which wasn’t entirely untrue.
“That’s because she’s not really there, she has only made you think that she is,” said the RMC.
Dean looked from the agents back to Raven. “Who … are you?”
“This has gone far enough!” shouted Raven. “Dean, attack them!”
Dean immediately threw himself at Mittens, ignoring Sam, who yelled at him to stop and be rational about this.
Mittens, who’s lean appearance belied his real strength, managed to block Dean’s punch, but he wasn’t sure how long he could keep this up, especially since he was trying not to hurt Dean, who seemed to have no such qualms regarding him.
The RMC folded its hands together, the way Mittens had taught it, swung them like a club at the Sue’s head, the way Mittens had taught it and missed completely, which had not been one of Mittens’ lessons.
She glared at it. “I’ll …” she began, but the RMC never found out, what it was she intended to do. In the next moment, she fell to the ground, unconscious. The RMC looked at Sam who was standing right behind where the Sue had stood, then it turned and looked at Dean and Mittens who had each other by the throats and were playing a game of who-passes-out-first.
“I think we should separate them,” it said.
“I think you’re right,” replied Sam.

“I want some answers!” Dean demanded, a few moments later. “Who is this girl? Why did I believe she was my kid? What was she trying to do to us?”
“All your questions will be answered in a moment, if you’ll look here,” the RMC said, pulling out the Neuralyzer.
“Hey, Sam! Close your eyes!” shouted Dean. “It’s one of those flashy thingies from Men in Black! They’re trying to make us forget!”
“It’s called a Neuralyzer,” the RMC said. “And, well, yes, I was.” It exchanged a glance with Mittens.
“Awkward,” he muttered.
“There are mind controlling monsters stalking the world and you just want us to forget, huh?” said Dean.
The RMC mulled this over for a moment. “Isn’t that kind of hypocritical? You and Sam rarely go around telling people about the things that go bump in the night.”
“That’s different,” said Dean. “Ordinary people can’t handle that sort of knowledge. They don’t even want it. But Sam and I are hunters. We can handle it.”
“Sorry, but no. There are things that even hunters like you can’t handle. Now, just open you eyes and lets get this over with.”
“No!” said Dean.
“Look,” said Sam. He was trying very hard for his puppy eyed look, which was surprisingly effective, even with closed eyes. “If you make us forget, we’ll be easy prey the next time one of those monsters shows up. You should tell us about them instead.”
“Don’t worry, if that happens, we’ll be there to protect you.”
“You are only two,” Sam argued. “What if something happens to you?”
“There are other hunters like us,” said the RMC. “They’ll look after you. And speaking of them, if you won’t let us neuralyze you, someone else will show up and get the job done. You can’t escape it. Might as well make it easy on all of us.”
Dean scoffed. “We’ll deal with whoever you send.”
“Tell me,” said the RMC, “aren’t you curious, as to why Raven couldn’t compel me and my partner?”
“Why do you want to tell us that, if you plan to erase our memories anyway?” asked Sam.
“I thought you might find it interesting. You see, it’s because she had already established that she couldn’t compel people who have something demonic in them, so it makes sense, that she certainly wouldn’t be able to manipulate an actual demon and a hellspawn.”
“What?” Dean forgot himself and opened his eyes in surprise. So did Sam.
“Sam and Dean Winchester, you do not know a girl named Raven, who claims to be Dean’s daughter. Any lingering memories of it, will have been an odd dream, caused by too much junk food before bedtime. You have just defeated the White Woman and now Sam wants to go home.”
The RMC pocketed the Neuralyzer, then picked up Raven who, being a Bird Kid, weighed almost nothing.
Mittens opened a portal and took the RMC’s shopping bags.
“Nice one with the clothes, Mittens,” said the RMC with a smile and walked though the portal.
Mittens blushed, smiled and followed.

Raven blinked a couple of times, her gaze slowly focusing on first Mittens, then the RMC, then at their surroundings. They were in an open field in the middle of nowhere. She was tied up and gagged.
“You’re awake,” said the RMC. “Finally. Now we can read your charges.”
Mittens opened the notebook. “Raven Natasha Winchester, as agents of the PPC we hereby charge you with having a supremely stupid story title; grossly violating the ‘show, don’t tell’ rule; redundancy; repeating things; creation of the mini-Hell Hounds Winchster, Burdafromniam, Centenial, Sylvainia and Constence; horrendous crimes against spelling, punctuation and grammar, especially tenses; with having a back story that managed to somehow be both a rip-off and not make a lick of sense.”
He stopped reading for a moment to look at her. “That’s actually quite a feat, because normally, in stories like this, the only parts that make sense are the ones stolen from elsewhere.”
He looked back in the notebook. “Where was I? Oh, yes. You are furthermore charged with giving yourself a ridiculous array of speshul abilities and powers and then placing random limitations on them, when using them would mean, that you would have to deviate from canon. You are especially charged with not knowing how an IQ score works and just giving yourself a random high number. This is made worse by the fact, that you sounded and acted like a moron throughout the story. You are charged with insulting Agatha Hetrodyne; having whole chapters with nothing but character stats; cruelty to a poor antelope; mentioning Wincest in a Suefic; being a horrible person; assuming that everyone else are horrible persons as well; not only stealing lines, but stealing the lines that made you look clever, thus making other people look stupid; having a bilingual pun, when you can barely manage your own language; making dumb mental comments and multiple instances of adding question marks after words you had spelled wrong.”
The RMC stepped forward. “Despite your many crimes against SPaG,” it said, “you have a grasp of the basics and you actually use that knowledge. You must have some idea about the value of proper grammar. So why didn’t you try harder? Use a spell check or at least look up words that you know, you can’t spell.” It stepped back.
Mittens whacked Raven over the head with the notebook for good measure, then continued reading. “You’re also charged with having the …” he squinted at the words the RMC had written, “… the most inane text conversation in the history of texting; with being a Mary Sue and with annoying PPC agents, for which the punishment is death.”
The RMC stepped forward again. “Normally our chargelist ends there. And normally we don’t charge for crimes we have only read in the Words and not witnessed ourselves, but we are willing to make an exception with you. We therefore charge you with loosing interest in your own story and rather than having the common decency to just abandon it, you hijack it. We charge you with turning a Supernatural fanfic into a real-person fanfic about this Andy Biersack, who we don’t really know and don’t care who is, but who we are sure, did not deserve to be dragged into this mess.”
Mittens pocketed the notebook and looked at the RMC. “Do you think we need to kill her in a special way? Like with a dagger that has been blessed seven times? Or maybe we should use a woodchipper; apparently, that works on most things.”
“I don’t think so. She hasn’t mentioned anything about being invincible. We should just make sure, that she doesn’t come back to haunt canon more than she already have, by salting and burning her.”
“Should she be alive or dead when we do that?”
There was a pause. Raven shivered, her gaze darting from one to the other, as Mittens used the time to sprinkle her with salt and pour kerosene on her.
Finally the RMC said: “Well, they’re always dead when they do it in canon, so I guess we have to kill her first.”
Mittens looked from the gun to the crossbow, decided on the crossbow, pointed it at Raven and fired.
There was a long drawn-out scream, muffled by the gag.
“Oops,” Mittens said flatly. “Was that your kneecap?” He retrieved the bolt and fired again, this time into her left eye.
The Sue turned back into an inflated dummy and glitter started streaming out of the two holes like sparkly smoke. Mittens stroked a match and let it drop on the dummy. The flames rose instantly and engulfed the cloud.
“We’re going to be in trouble about loosing a dummy,” he said.
The RMC shrugged. “Had to be done,” it said. “Unless the Flowers wanted a Glittery Woman who haunts the roads, luring unsuspecting canons to their deaths. Now, let’s go take care of Bobby and Nick.”

They neuralyzed Bobby and dragged off with Nick. After charging him with being a non-canonical nephew and foster-son of Bobby, engaging in inane texting, aiding and abetting a Sue and conspiring to do further crimes, he was executed by a gunshot through the head and the body salted and burned.
“What do you think happens with the rest of the OCs; I mean the ones from the rest of the fic?” asked Mittens, as he started opening a portal back to their RC.
The RMC shrugged. “They’ll never exist, I guess. Like in that episode with Titanic. A lot of people who were never supposed to be.” It smiled. “Possibly there’s a little book now, with their names in, belonging to Atropos.”
The portal opened and they walked though.

“We have new minis,” announced Mittens, as they stepped back into RC#170.
“Where?” asked Saxo, who was decorating half of the Response Centre with green fir branches and silver ornaments. James was hanging red and golden decorations on the other half.
“Right there,” said Mittens, pointing.
Both James and Saxo looked at the Yorkshire Terriers, who were already sniffing the floor and sending cautions looks in Aniseed’s direction. Except that they didn’t seem to look at them, as much as in their general direction.
“Where?” asked James, with a frown.
“Oh, I forgot,” said the RMC. “Hell Hounds can’t be seen by ordinary humans and such and neither can the minis, it would seem.”
“I’m not an ordinary human,” replied Saxo, indignantly.
“Neither am I,” said James.
“I did say ‘and such’,” replied the RMC. “Mittens and I can only see them, because …”
It was interrupted by a small ‘beep’ that indicated a message. “Will you get that, Mittens? No doubt we are being summoned to be berated about loosing the dummy.”
Mittens checked the message, frowned and turned. “We’re being transferred,” he said.

[Author’s Notes: This is from the newly discovered Circle of Lemmings. It’s not possible to copy paste from there, so all excerpts from the fic have been written in by me. I have tried to write everything exactly as it was, but it’s possible that I might have added some SPaG mistakes (not likely) or accidentally corrected some (more likely).

Mittens and the Radioactive Moss Creature are from an unpublished novel about angels and devils I wrote, before even knowing what Supernatural was. Any similarities between the two continua are coincidental, but highly amusing.

Despite the RMC’s rant. I am not against the sporking of real-person fics; I just think they require a lot more care and thought. In fact, if That Guy With The Glasses didn’t seem to be a self-sporking canon, I might have written a mission there. However, I had never heard of Andy Biersack before this. (When this fic caught my eye for the first time, there was no mention of him, neither in the title nor anywhere else.) Hardly a good starting point for a sporking. And while I won’t go into details, there were several things in that part of the story, that made me feel uncomfortable or even angry, and none of it made me feel, that I could get good humour from it.
Also, the later Supernatural parts were just the Sue once again – in Mittens’ words – inserting herself into canon and not adding anything but rubbish. Except for the occasional mini, there were no new charges and no new jokes. Therefore, I decided to simply wrap it up.]

Author’s Note: To be sung to the tune of It Feels Like Christmas from The Muppets Christmas Carol. The PPC belongs to Jay and Acacia. Mittens, the Radioactive Moss Creature, Saxo Cruore and James Vulpes are mine.

[The RMC]


It’s in the HQ getting cold as the North Pole

It’s huddling up and getting warm by the console

It’s true, wherever you feel home it feels like Christmas


A cup of Bleepka that we share with another

A game of Scrabble with a friend or a brother


In all the places you feel home it feels like Christmas

[The RMC]

It is the season of rejoicing

A special time of cheering

Vacation time is near


And it is the season of the sprit

The message if we hear it

Is make it last all year


It’s in the giving out of gifts to your best friends

A pair of mittens that were made with your own hands


It’s all the ways that we show love that feel like Christmas

[Saxo and James]

A part of childhood that we’ll always remember

Although we’ve only been here since last November


Yes, when you do your best for love it feels like Christmas

[The RMC]

It is the season of rejoicing

A special time of cheering

Vacation time is near

[Saxo, James and Mittens]

It is the season of the sprit

The message if we hear it

Is make it last all year

[The RMC]

It’s in the HQ getting cold as the North Pole

It’s huddling up and getting warm by the console

It’s true, wherever you feel home it feels like Christmas

It’s true, wherever you feel home it feels like



[The RMC]

It feels like



[The RMC]

It feels like



[The RMC]

It feels like



Candlelight Carol

Author’s Note: To be sung to the tune of Candlelight Carol by John Rutter. The PPC belongs to Jay and Acacia.


How do you capture the vision of Tolkien?

How do you count all the treasures of Smaug?

How can you measure our love of the canon?

And how do you write all the Dwarrows so proud?


Candlelight, Elven-light

Dragonfire and star glow

Shining on Arda till breaking of dawn

Badfic, oh! Badfic, woe! In excess is coming!

Agents are singing

The movies are here


Fangirls and fanbrats will watch and adore them

Agents around them their vigil will keep

Hunting down bad slash, bad grammar and plotholes

Then read the goodfics, till they fall asleep


Candlelight, Elven-light

Dragonfire and star glow

Shining on Arda till breaking of dawn

Badfic, oh! Badfic, woe! In excess is coming!

Agents are singing

The movies are here


Find them at Rivendell, taking their photos

Keeping the onslaught of songfics at bay

Petting the giant-a** spiders of Mirkwood

Childish and deadly on this winter’s day


Candlelight, Elven-light

Dragonfire and star glow

Shining on Arda till breaking of dawn

Badfic, oh! Badfic, woe! In excess is coming!

Agents are singing

The movies are here

Agents Mittens and the Radioactive Moss Creature were on their way back from RC#9L0121F4114C3, walking backwards through the corridors of Headquarters, when the RMC said: “Now, about that Sparkewolf …”
Mittens’ mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Finally he swallowed and said: “How did you know? I thought I snatched it when everyone were distracted.”
“I don’t think Agents Shieh and Elerossiel noticed a thing. I certainly didn’t see you take it. I just heard you lament the fate of the poor mini and then you went awfully quiet on the subject. It didn’t seem like you at all.”
“I didn’t mean for anyone to know. I didn’t want anyone else to get into trouble.”
“Mittens …”
“We can’t send it back. We can’t.”
“You know the rules as well as I do. We can’t keep it.”
“I’m not talking about about keeping it. But we can’t let it be stuck in badfics forever. We just can’t.”
The RMC was surprised and a little bit shocked to see that Mittens’ eyes were wet. It was enough to make its mossy heart ache. Mittens, who always did his duty, who never complained and who never asked for anything.
It lowered its head. “Can’t send it back, can’t get it adopted. What we need,” it lifted its head again, “is a third option. And I have an idea as to who might provide that.” It lifted a paw to stop Mittens saying anything. “Mind you, I haven’t promised anything. If we get a no, then the mini goes back. I’m giving it a chance, nothing more.”
Despite these words, Mittens beamed a smile at the RMC.
“Now we just have to find …” the RMC began, then stopped when it noticed the sign on a door on their left, “… RC#412. Which is right here. Well, I guess it was a rather distracting conversation we were having.” It looked at Mittens. “Go on. Knock.”

On one hand, there was no answer when Mittens knocked on the door. On the other hand the door wasn’t closed properly and opened when he knocked on it. The Agents looked at each other, shrugged and entered a small room. It didn’t seem like anyone was living here, since the room contained nothing but a desk with a computer and a chair, in which a woman was sitting. She gave a small start and turned to look at them with a guilty expression as if she had been caught doing something she shouldn’t, while at the same time closing a browser window.
She blinked. “Oh,” she said. “It’s you.” Then, as if remembering her manners: “What can I do for you?”
The RMC turned to Mittens. “Close the door please.” When it had been done, it said: “Mittens, this is EileenAlphabet, Agent of the Department of Intelligence and author self-insert.”
Mittens stuck out his hand, which Eileen took, a bit awkwardly. He noticed that she was wearing nail polish, which was in a fetching shade of blue, but so worn and chipped, that on average only half of each nail was covered.
Eileen looked at the RMC. “So, how may I be of assistance?”
The RMC looked straight back at her, as it said. “Mittens, show her the mini.”
Mittens didn’t hesitate, but placed the backpack on the floor and took out the mini-Sparklewolf in question.
Eileen looked at the wolf questioningly, but said nothing, apparently waiting for an explanation.
“This,” the RMC said, “is a mini-Sparklewolf.” It paused. “It’s name is Stephanie.”
It took a moment, the understanding dawned on Eileens face. “Oh,” she said.
“Yes, oh,” the RMC agreed. “You know what the problem is. It can’t be adopted and there’s no OFU for Twilight it can be sent to. We were hoping that you, being what you are, could help us find a solution.”
“What, are you expecting me to start a Twilight OFU?”
“Certainly not.” The RMC actually shuddered a bit at the thought. “We were hoping you could think of a third solution. Come up with something creative.”
Eileen leaned back in her chair. “If I could do that – and I’m not saying that I can, but if I could – you realise that the Flowers very much frown on this type of thing? An author self insert, using her … abilities to break a stated rule? That’s more than halfway to Suedom right there.”
“I’ve been led to understand as much. But I have to admit, I can’t see the harm in writing a happy end for this poor mini.”
Eileen smiled, an odd smile, and leaned forwards towards the mini-Sparklewolf. Mittens shuffled his feet uneasily. Something about her seemed different suddenly. She started to speak and her voice sounded like it was coming from somewhere other that her lips.
“The authoress reached out towards the cute mini-Sparklewolf.’”
Mittens shivered. Stephanie looked fluffier and more glittery than before. He looked at Eileen’s hand as she reached out towards it. The nail polish was perfectly smooth and without the smallest scratch.
“’Do you need a place to stay, little one? You can stay with me and those evil Flowers won’t have anything to say about it.’”
Her hand was almost touching the mini-Sparklewolf’s head. It gave a low whine, but seemed rooted to the spot, unable to move. Then she pulled back her hand; the nail polish was chipped again.
“No.” She looked at them with an ironic smile. “This wasn’t what you had in mind when you asked me to think of something to bend the rules?”
The RMC shook its head.
Eileen once more leaned back in her chair. Her demeanour was now crisp and businesslike. “We can get in a world of trouble for doing this and no doubt we will. But I’m afraid you came to the the right person. I never could refuse someone asking me to help a small fluffy creature.” She reached out and scratched the mini-Sparklewolf behind the ears. It thumped its tail against the floor enthusiastically. “I’ll think up something for Stephanie here. But you’ll owe me one” She sighed. “And if the Flowers find out – and I suspect they already know – you owe me an even bigger one.”

The noises from RC#170 could be heard not only though the closed door, but a rather long way down the corridor.
Mittens sighed. “There they go again. No doubt they started fighting the moment we left and have been at it ever since.” He opened the door and he and the RMC stepped inside.
The sight that greeted them was not quite what they had expected. James and Saxo were facing each other across the small table; James was growling and Saxo had his own teeth bared and none of them had noticed the other two Agents enter. It looked like they had been sitting down for a cup of tea or something and had then gotten into an argument. But that was of course impossible. They would never sit down to have tea with one another.
Then Mittens noticed the small tiles that were strewn on the floor and bent to pick one up. It had the letter C on it and a small number 8 in one corner. He showed it to the RMC who looked from it to the two agents.
“Have you been playing Scrabble?” it asked.
They broke off their staring contest and turned to the RMC, both looking a bit sheepish.
James found his voice first. “I have been playing. That … that craven blackguard,” he pointed at Saxo, “have simply been cheating.”
“Rules are for muggles and weaklings. The strong and capable make their own rules,” Saxo replied loftily, which made James start to growl again.
“No fighting, please,” the RMC said.
“Why are there more mini-Aragogs than usually?” asked Mittens, who had been looking around.
Saxo and James looked at him, then at each other, then back at the other two and then they started to tell them about a mission, they had been on. It was all rather jumbled together and it didn’t help, that they kept interrupting each other, but Mittens and the RMC gathered, that it had been a really awful fic and that they had defeated it together.
“In that case,” said the RMC, “we congratulate you. You are no longer newbies or trainees. You are full agents and real partners.”
Saxo and James eyed each other unenthusiastically at these words.
“We should celebrate with some tea,” Mittens said. “And you know, I have some biscuits, that I have been saving for an occasion like this.” He walked towards the small kitchenette.
Saxo and James gave each other a look of sheer panic this time, before rushing up to Mittens, almost dragging him away from the cupboard and assuring him that they most certainly did not need any biscuits.

[Disclaimer: The PPC belongs to Jay and Acacia, I’m just playing in it. Saxo Cruore and James Vulpes along with Mittens and the Radioactive Moss Creature are mine. Mine! Muahahaha! Ahem… ‘Smells of Rose‘, or whatever it’s supposed to be called, belongs to karla1980 who is welcome to it. Labyrinth belongs to … um … at this point probably Disney. Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling. The Great Chicken Uprising is from Girls Next Door but I love to pretend that it is actual Labyrinth canon.]
[Author’s Note: This mission takes place simultaneously with my co-write with Lily Winterwood. It shows what my other two agents got up to, after Mittens and the RMC had seriously baited the Ironic Overpower by telling them to not get into trouble. It will probably be useful to know that Saxo is a former badfic-bit, a Death Eater, and James is a replacement of a character from Labyrinth. Mission is rated M for swearing.]

The door closed behind Mittens and the Radioactive Moss Creature. Saxo and James looked at each other, the same thought occurring to both. While Mittens had told them most emphatically to not kill each other, he had – most likely because he was in a hurry – neglected to say anything about maiming or grievous bodily harm.
“So …” Saxo began, in a low, threatening voice, but he never had the chance to continue. The console exploded in an ear-shattering [BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!!!!]
Both he and James ran for the door and James threw it open, but Mittens and the RMC were nowhere to be seen. There were only other agents, who gave them annoyed looks, wondering why they didn’t acknowledge the mission and stop the racket.
James closed the door. “We have to turn it off!” he shouted.
“We can’t!” Saxo shouted back. “There’s no way to turn it off! There’s only a button to acknowledge the mission!”
“Why did they send a new mission so soon!? They must have known the others have only just left and won’t be back for awhile!”
Saxo didn’t dignify this with an answer, mostly because he had no idea.
“We’ll have to go outside until the others come back!” James shouted.
Saxo was about to agree, much as it irked him, when a thought struck him. “We can’t go out and leave the minis in this noise! When Mittens finds out, he’ll do unspeakable things to our kneecaps!”
The wailing seemed to be growing louder, even though that shouldn’t have been possible. And so it was that James walked up to the console and slammed the button to acknowledge the mission.
The silence that fell was ominous rather than relieving.
“You’ve acknowledged the mission,” Saxo said.
James chose not to dignify this with an answer.
“Now we have to do the mission, unless Mittens and the Radioactive Moss Creature return right now.”
James did not dignify this with an answer either. To have something to do while not answering, he looked at the Intelligence Report for ‘Smells of Rose’. There were quite a lot of exclamation marks in the Report. He read the description and felt anger start to rise in him. “What! Milady Sarah is at Hogwarts, but she is in league with the Death Eaters! Slander and lies!”
Saxo grinned. “Your precious Lady finally came to her senses?”
James bristled, but then thought of something better and said in a sly voice: “Lady Hermione has gone over as well, because she and Tom Riddle are in love.”
“What! You’re lying! Let me see!” Saxo shoved James aside and looked at the Intelligence Report.
James growled, but then he heard Saxo give a low moan.
“No! That’s not true! The Dark Lord and a Mudblood? Never!”
James gave a mirthless laugh, that sounded like a bark. “Not so much fun, when it is your favourite being defamed.”
There was a long, ominous silence. Even the minis seemed to hold their breaths. Finally, Saxo lifted his eyes from the screen and turned slowly to look at James. In his gaze was a glimpse of the insanity and blood-lust that had originally made Mittens recruit him. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “How about, you and I put our differences behind us …”
“… for as long as it takes us to kill this abomination.” James finished.
“Yes. Then we can go back to ripping each other’s throats out.”
“As is good and proper. Well, I am certainly not against the idea, if only we can find the necessary tools for the task.”
“There’s a spare backpack on the top shelf and as obsessive as Mittens is, I bet it’ll have everything all packed and ready.”
“Sir Mittens is not obsessive! He is thorough.”
“Now now. I thought we agreed to put our differences behind us for the moment.”
James fumed. “That does not mean you get to say anything and I cannot contradict you!”
Saxo had started going through the contents of the backpack. “No? Oh well, maybe it doesn’t. But if we’re being precise here, you should stop calling Mittens ‘Sir’; he’s not a noble and neither is Sarah or Hermione for that matter.”
“But it comes naturally for me to call Sarah ‘Milady’.”
Saxo sighed. “Fine then, but only her.” He closed the backpack tightly. “Let’s go.”
“Should you not bring your sword?”
“I’ll use my wand. It’s canon.”
“Do you know how to work the console? Set disguises and such?”
Saxo shot the piece of machinery in question a wary look. He was against technology on principle, regarding it as inferior to magic, but while at the PPC, he had picked up a thing or two, so maybe he could figure it out. Anyway, he didn’t feel like asking James for help; the fox-person would just be smug about it. He checked the Intelligence Report again.
“It says the fic takes place in both Hogwarts and the Underground, so I guess we’ll go as,” he grimaced, “house-elves, since they look a lot like goblins.” He turned and glowered at James to see if he was grinning, but the fox was managing a surprisingly convincing neutral expression.
Saxo started punching buttons on the console, finishing with the one that opened the portal and they jumped through.

“Here the title of the story is ‘Smells of Roses’, with a plural s,” James noted.
“Makes it sound somewhat less creepy,” Saxo commented drily. “But really, who gets the title of their own story wrong?”

Tom sat in his throne waiting for the Goblin King to come to him for help with the war against the order of the phoenix;

“So, in this story it is Jareth who is fighting the Order?” James asked sarcastically. He wasn’t very good at sarcasm, since his canon counterpart was completely devoid of it, but spend enough time in the PPC and, sooner or later, you’ll start to get the hang of it.
“Just write down a charge for the Dark Lord using his old name and stop picking on every little mistake or you’ll run out of notebook.”
“Why do I have to write the charge list?!”
“Because I did it the last time.”
“So you have fresh experience. This is not a training mission, remember? The other two are not here to help us if we get something wrong.”
Grumbling, Saxo took the notebook and pen and started taking notes.

In the fic it turned out, that it was actually Tom Riddle, who wanted the help of Jareth and his goblins in the war against the wizarding world.
“I suppose that’s kind of in character,” Saxo said reluctantly. “The Dark Lord secured the help of many different creatures, who were unhappy with the wizards.”
“Yes, but these are goblins! Do you have any idea how they fared in the Great Chicken Uprising? They are worse than useless to have on your side.”
“I’m not sure that the Great Chicken Uprising is entirely canon. Anyway, we should just be glad that he’s still the Goblin King and not the Fae King of Jumbled-Together-Celtic-Mythology like in so many other stories.”

Tom looked at Jareth with a worried expression for he is in love with Hermione.

“That, however is most definitely not canon!” Saxo glared at the scene in front of them, angrily fingering his wand. “Get a reading. I want to know if this is a replacement.”
James took out the CAD, made sure that it was muted and pointed it at Tom Riddle.
[Tom Riddle. Wizard. In love? With a Mudblood?] The screen went blank for a moment, then new words showed up. [And you need me to tell you] Blink. [that he is 87,54% out of character?]
The agents both stared at the screen, which had gone blank again. Then James said: “The spare backpack,” at the same time Saxo said: “The replacement CAD.”
“The one with an attitude,” James said.
[I can hear you, you know.]
“Well, there was no reason to be rude!” James said.
“It’s not like we don’t know the Dark Lord is out of whack,” Saxo added, “but we have to get readings to know exactly what we’re dealing with.”
James looked back at the action. The Goblin King had just stated that he wanted “Sarah!!!.
He pointed the CAD at Jareth. It wailed like a kid with a scraped knee and James threw it on the ground and threw himself on it to muffle the sound. Jareth and Tom looked in their direction, but probably dismissed the sound as an unfortunate Muggle-born being tortured somewhere. James finally found the mute button and pressed it.
[Jareth. Goblin King of some sort. Out of Character 31,32%]
“You did that on purpose!” James said.
[One should always check that the CAD is muted before pointing it somewhere.] Blink. [Didn’t your trainer tell you that?]
James growled in reply.
“That was a rather low OOC,” Saxo remarked with a tiny smirk.
James dusted himself off. “Well, the Goblin King is a scheming villain of sorts, and if we accept it as within canon possibility, that he wants Sarah, then the only real crime is him thinking that he needs Tom’s help in getting heeeeeeeeer!!”
The last word ended in a drawn-out yell, as, without warning, they were hurled though space and possibly time to end up at Hogwarts.

Sarah and Hermione were looking for somewhere to hide from Harry and Ron so they could send info to the Dark Lord.

Draco then appears. So you two have come to your senses then.” He beckons them to follow him to the slitherin common room.

James scooped up the mini-Aragog, slitherin, like he had seen Mittens do many times and tried to place it in the backpack. Apparently he lacked Mittens’ skills, for slitherin wiggled in his arms and when he tried to stuff it in the bag, it bit him. In the end he had to be content with letting it ride on top. He shot a look at Saxo to see if he was smiling, but Saxo had a mock serious expression to rival one of the Weasley twins.

Once inside, they tell him that Harry and Ron are looking for the horcrux. “So you would help the dark lord why?” the two girls looked at oneanather and with a smile, “Harry is a little boy who thinks he can defeat the dark lord: A man with more power in he’s little finger, then Harry has in his whole body.” Sarah smiles “Oh so you like the dark lord.” Hermione blushes as Sarah turns to Draco “So can you help us with this?”

James shooed slitherin down, so he could get to the Bleeprin in the backpack. He also handed Saxo a couple without being asked. Not even Saxo deserved to suffer through this sober.

They were pulled back to Tom Riddle’s hideout, but at least this time the scene change was marked. Another mini-Aragog, Luscious, appeared; it had very long, thick, blond hair and did not look happy as it joined slitherin on the backpack.
Tom Riddle was extremely upset when he was informed that Harry and Ron were looking for his ‘horcrux’.
“Horcrux, singular,” James noted. “Apparently this is some AU where he only made one.”
Saxo scowled at the scene. “He wouldn’t want anyone to know about the Horcuxes, not even his own Death Eaters. He would kill Lucius for knowing about them, pausing only to torture him to find out who else knew.”
James shot him a look. “You don’t have to look so satisfied, when talking about death and torture, you know.”
Saxo shrugged. “And you don’t have to call Sarah ‘milady’. We are what we are.”

There was some more abhorrent grammar and spelling which, among other things, caused Jareth to briefly turn into a room, before they were dragged back to Hogwarts, where the mini-Aragog Blaze showed up.
James started getting readings on everyone, with depressing results.

“And why is that?” Blaze asked “You and Sarah are so good friends with the Pothead and Weasel.” Sarah turns to Blaze. “Well they killed my real mum and dad and Hermione’s too, so we are no longer helping them, but you now. If that is cool with you?” Blaze grins

The two agents stared. Their lower jaws slid downwards, further and further, until they seemed to unhinge.
Saxo found his voice first. “What …” he began, then had to close his mouth and swallow. Having it standing wide open like that, had made his mouth dry out. “What was that?”
“I cannot believe it.”
“Neither can I. Harry Potter? Kill someone? Their parents? That little paragon of virtue, who couldn’t even kill Wormtail? That’s the stupidest explanation I’ve ever heard!”
“It is not even a proper explanation. There is no how and why. It is just thrown out there without any kind of details. And this is Harry Potter, a canon rightfully famous for its long and convoluted backstories.”
Saxo looked at James for a moment, but decided that the last remark had not been meant as a personal insult to him, so he simply said: “I think it’s high time we got a reading on these girls.”
James nodded grimly, checked that the CAD was muted, then pointed it at Sarah.
[Sarah. Muggle/witch. Un-canon. Replacement Sue.] Blink. [You’re new to this, so if you need any creative] Blink. [suggestions as to how to kill her, just ask.]
“Thank you,” James said. “But I am sure we can work something out on our own.” He checked the mute button again and pointed it at Hermione.
[Suit yourself. Hermione. Witch. Replacement Sue.]
“Hardly surprising,” Saxo said. He had been looking over James’ shoulder. “Neither of them would ever, under any circumstances join our side. Even if Harry had killed their parents, they would have renounced him, but not the cause.”

Sarah and Hermione were on their way back to the Gryffindor common room when Harry and Ron find them. “Where the fucking hell have you two been?” Ron demands “we’ve been looking all over for you two bitches, so don’t for off like that”

James checked Harry and Ron, who were 21,70% and 48,66% Out of Character, respectively.

“We were in the room requirement Ron” Sarah tells him, completely straight-faced. “Oh, we didn’t think of looking in there, sorry.” Harry Apologises “Are you going to hogmaed this weekend?”

Ron briefly turned into a room. James scowled at the scene and picked up hogmaed, the mini-Aragog.

Ron looks at Hermione like he’s ready to knock her to the floor and fuck her there and then, with everyone still there.

The agents shuddered at the sight, grimaced and swallowed some more Bleeprin.
“This stuff doesn’t last very long,” Saxo complained.
“New chapter, coming up. And there’s another mini, Hogsmead.”

In the next chapter, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Sarah were on their way to Hogsmead, which apart from being a mini-Aragog, was also a village, not unlike the canonical Hogsmeade, except that the whole place had a distinct, but not unpleasant smell of pork and honeyed wine. Then Blaise – “At least he’s spelled right now,” Saxo noted – and Draco provoked Harry and Ron into namecalling, which led to Snape sending Harry and Ron home.
There was another mini-Aragog, Wesley.
James got a reading off Snape. [Snape. Wizard. Out of Character: 16.11% ] Blink. [Ironic, isn’t it?]
“Snape is usually one of the most warped characters in badfics,” Saxo noted, “but blatantly favouring Slytherins and sending Harry and Ron home is very much in character.”
“But what was the purpose of that scene,” James asked, annoyed. “To once again show us that the girls really hate Harry and Ron?”
“Why would you assume that there’s a purpose to anything in a badfic?” Saxo suddenly turned a little bit green and placed a hand over his mouth. “Those damn tense shifts are upsetting my stomach. Or maybe it was the food from the cafeteria.”
“The food from the cafeteria was perfectly fine.”
Saxo sneered. “How would you know? You’re canonically known to have no sense of smell at all, which means that your sense of taste is also non-existent.”
“My sense of smell is keen!”
“I knew you’d say that.”

The fic dragged them, once again, to Tom Riddle’s hideout.

“Good.” Jareth says looking rather bored, absentmindedly rolling his crystals around in his hands.

“Let’s be thankful the fic didn’t say he was rolling his balls,” Saxo noted dryly. “With the state the Word World is in, there’s no telling how it would have interpreted that.”
“There’s another mini. It must be ‘Deatheaters’.

“My lord, the potion is ready for you. It will bring your body back but it will be as it was when you were lost to us.”
“Well, this will be something that that old fool would never have thought possible.” Tom says with a triumphant smile, thinking to himself “to be young again and my Hermione only 18 years old.”

“What’s he talking about?” asked Saxo. “He wasn’t young, or for that matter handsome, when he disappeared and he hadn’t been for years.”
“And if Hermione  is 18, this must at least be the seventh year, so they shouldn’t even be at Hogwarts.”
“Oh, that.” Saxo gave a dismissive flick with the pen he was using to write the charges. “I suppose the Hermione-replacement thinks that an age difference of more than half a century, is perfectly all right, as long as the youngest participant is 18 rather than 16 or 17. Anyway, this whole idea of such a potion is preposterous.” He went back to scribbling angrily.

The fic dragged them back to Hogsmead, where a new mini waited.

“Yes, they have found it with Deloris. We believe it to be a Horcrux and those two dim-witted boys have asked us” Hermione indicating herself and Sarah “to look up a way to verify and if needed, destroy it. But we thought it would be better that we come to you with it.” She hands over a necklace to Draco. He examines it for a moment.

“You think this is a trollfic?” Saxo asked in a whisper. They were hiding under the bed, in a room in the inn, where the scene took place.
“What makes you say that?”
“The way that the author in the second chapter has learned to spell Blaise and Lucius, but now comes up with a just as outrageous mini.”
“I’m more concerned with the fact that Harry and Ron seem to be looking for Horcruxes while still at school and that they talk as if Dumbledore is still alive. Is this supposed to be the sixth year or seventh? Which things are changed from the books? The readers are given nothing to work with.”
Saxo shrugged. “Apparently, this is the seventh year in a setting so AU, that it couldn’t touch the Harry Potter canon with a thousand feet broomstick.”
“Nor the Labyrinth canon,” James interjected.
“I don’t know about that. I’m still not sure that the Great Chicken Uprising really is canon.”

“Thanks. This will indeed help the Dark Lord out, if the research proves to be so.”

Both agents turned again to the action in the fic.
“And why,” demanded Saxo through gritted teeth, “would the Dark Lord need to examine the necklace to tell if it’s one of his Horcuxes? For that matter, why would the Potter-boy? In the book it was painfully obvious to them all, that there was dark power in it.”
“Remember what you told me about common sense and how it applies to badfics?”
“It doesn’t.”
“Exactly,” James said.
“Where’s the Bleeprin?”

“They are so up that man’s wrinkly old ass that it looks like his butt cheeks are talking.” Sarah snaps, not shifting her gaze from out of the window.

There was a brief, stunned silence under the bed, then Saxo had to grab James.
“Let me go! Impersonating milady! Making her use such foul language! And about Dumbledore! Let! Me! Go!”
Saxo held on to James, but felt his grip slipping. In desperation, he Apparated to the first location that crossed his mind. They landed in a small heap in the Underground, where there were enough scuffling goblins that nobody noticed two more.
“James! Calm down!”
“I will not calm down! I want to kill her! That monster, that impersonator, that corrupter, that …”
Saxo clamped his hand over his mouth. “And we will. But we have to charge her first and we have to wait for the right moment.”
James chomped down on his hand and Saxo yanked it back with a yelp.
“I will not wait for anything! I am not a coward! I will fight anyone, anywhere …”
“Merlin’s underpants, would you stop with the quoting! And it has nothing to do with cowardice. It is simply what is demanded of us. If we – or in this case you – kill her prematurely, you’ll get sacked and never get to free the world of another Sue and there are plenty out there, who are even worse.”
This seemed to get through to James. He sagged in Saxo’s grip and panted a bit, catching his breath. Finally he looked up. “I am not a coward?” he whispered.
“No, you’re not. Now please don’t ask me about your sense of smell.”
“I won’t.” James got to his feet. “We should start looking for the right moment.”
Saxo scanned the Words. “Sarah and Hermione leave the Three Broomsticks right after that scene we overheard. I suggest we get them there.”

Hermione and Sarah were walking back to Hogwarts, talking about how much they hated Harry and Ron and everyone in the Order and really liked the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters. There were lots of swearing involved, so it should come as no surprise, that when the ground suddenly disappeared underneath them, they both let out a long ‘Fuuuuck!!’ as they fell.
They landed rather hard on a stone floor. It was pitch black around them.
A voice said: “Can we kill them now?” Both girls shivered at the tone of that voice.
“No,” another voice said after a rather long pause. “I suggest we go back and clean up first. I want to savour the moment.”
“Whereto then?”
“Back to Hogsmead.”
The voices disappeared, leaving the girls alone in the dark.

After taking care of all the students – something Saxo had enjoyed immensely, yelling “Obliviate!” with rather more force than was strictly speaking needed and waving his wand left, right and centre – they were back in the Underground for the final scene.

“Hogwart! Where are you? Get over here!” Jareth storms into the throne room with Tom and Snape following.

Saxo gave a wry smile. “Only decent joke in this fic. Too bad, it’s a rip-off,” he said. Then he cocked his head as he watched the action. “I think Snape just poisoned Tom, uh, I mean the Dark Lord.”
“And there’s another mini. This must be fire whiskey.”

On his way there, Snape pulls out a wizard’s photo of a young woman with a baby in her arms and a young Snape behind her with his arms around both her and the baby.
“This for you my love, and our child. One day I will have my child back Lily, that I swear to you.”

“Did he just imply that Harry is his child?” James demanded.
“Looks like it. Take some more Bleeprin.”
“No, the time for Bleeprin has passed. Now it is time for judgement.”
“Suit yourself.” Saxo downed a handful of pills, then pulled out his wand with a gleeful expression and started walking up to Jareth. The Goblin King was just standing with a vacant expression, since there was no more fic to act out.
“You’ll have to use the Neuralyzer on him,” James said.
“What? Why?”
“According to this fic, you have to get his permission to use magic in the Underground.”
“Merlin’s grey underpants,” Saxo muttered.
“You could try just asking him for permission. Sometimes that works.”
“Haha, funny.” Saxo took the Neuralyzer, pointed it at Jareth and pressed the button. “Right. You are the Goblin King, no more, no less, at least according to known canon. You don’t know anything about Harry Potter or the wizarding world. You may or may not be in love with Sarah Williams, but if you are, you don’t need anyone’s help in getting her. And there is no rule that people have to get your permission, before using magic while in the Underground.”
Jareth nodded slowly and Saxo turned back to James. “Right. Now to the Dark Lord.”

“What do you think is wrong with him?” James asked, looking at the unconscious Tom Riddle. “Do you think he needs to go to Medical?”
“Let me just think for a moment. Yes, the fic did say that Snape had some sort of laboratory here. Maybe this will do. Accio bezoar!”
A moment went by, then a small stone came flying through the air and Saxo caught it. “Trust Snape to have a well stocked laboratory wherever he goes. Trust him on nothing else, but trust him on this.” He stuffed the stone into the mouth of Tom Riddle, who after a moment opened his eyes.
“Obliviate!” Saxo yelled. “You go by the name of Lord …” He paused for a moment and willed himself to use the name. “Lord Voldemort. You are not in love with anyone, especially not a Mudblood girl. You have never heard of Sarah or Jareth or the Underground.”
He hesitated. It would be so easy, so painfully easy. All he had to do, was turn around and cast the Killing Curse on his unsuspecting partner. Then he could tell Lord Voldemort that he was one of his Death Eaters; no, better than that, his most trusted and loyal servant. He felt sure that he could deal with whoever the PPC sent after him. His wand seemed to twitch in his hand as if wanting to be wielded. He could be who he used to be.
He blinked. No, not who he used to be. His pureblood family, all the powerful dark wizards and witches who had been his ancestors, didn’t exist, had never existed outside of a badfic. What good would it do him to go back and be a Death Eater, when his lineage was as gone as ever.
Slowly, he lifted his wand and said: “You will now go back to conquering the wizarding world.” Then he stepped back nervously as the Dark Lord got up from the bed. In a minute, the daze he was in would lift and the Dark Lord would find himself in a strange place, with two unfamiliar house-elves. He would not take kindly to this. But James had acted fast and already opened a portal. “Through here, please, my Lord.” Once the portal closed behind the Dark Lord, Saxo let out a shivering breath. “Just a few more loose ends to tie up, then we get to the fun part.”

A voice rang out in the darkness, one of the voices from before. “Petrificus Totalus,” it said, then repeated the words. Both Sarah and Hermione felt themselves being paralyzed. Then the voice said: “Lumos.”
A wand lit up a small room with a skeleton lying in a corner and two irate looking goblins, no, house-elves glaring at them.
“We are from the brotherhood known as the PPC and we are here to charge you,” one of the house-elves said. It opened a small notebook and started to read from it. “Sarah, you are charged with going to Hogwarts without explanation and also with creating a timeshift by doing so; with making Jareth think that he needs help to get you and with joining the Dark Lord, even though you are by all accounts a Muggle-born yourself.” The house-elf stopped talking and handed the notebook to the other house-elf, who now proceeded to read.
“Hermione, you are charged with making the Dark Lord fall in love with you, even though you are a Mudblood and with falling in love with him in return. You are also charged with aiding and abetting him and the Death Eaters, again, even though you are a Mudblood. You are charged with making him use his old name; with claiming that Harry Potter killed your and Sarah’s parents; with still going to Hogwarts at the age of 18; with creating such extreme confusion as to time and events that calling this a AU would be like calling an Ukrainian Ironbelly a fire slug; with having only one Horcrux in the story and with creating a non-canonical potion.”
The first house-elf stepped forward again and was handed the notebook back. “You are both charged with taking part in an extremely ill-conceived and horribly executed crossover; implying that Snape had a child with Lily; with creating the mini-Aragogs slitherin, Luscious, Blaze, hogmaed, Hogsmead, Wesley, Deatheaters, Deloris and fire whiskey; with crimes against grammar – especially tenses – spelling and punctuation, that are many in number and heinous in nature and several times caused people to turn into each other or into rooms; with extreme overuse of swearing and with being not only Mary Sues, but complete and utter insults to the characters you impersonate.”
“And with annoying PPC-agents.”
“Most certainly. Your fit punishment for all these crimes is death.”
“Any last words?”
Sarah and Hermione both felt the Body Freezing Spell lift.
”But Harry Potter killed my parents!” Sarah wailed.
“And mine,” Hermione sobbed.
One of the house-elves picked up the thigh-bone from the skeleton and whacked her over the head with it. “That is no reason to join the dark side!” it bellowed. “Your parents are nothing compared to all the Mudbloods killed by the Dark Lord! Why would you want to join him!?”
The other house-elf placed a hand on his arm. “Let us just kill them and be done with it.”
The first house-elf smirked, the most evil of evil smirks, and once again said: “Petrificus Totalus.”
“And now, into the Bog of Eternal Stench goes Sues,” said the other house-elf and once again the ground disappeared beneath them, but this time they landed in something wet and soft and there was a stench, oh, the stench, the horrible stench!

“Let us go home,” James said, once he and Saxo were satisfied that the Sues were not coming up. The only drawback to using the Bog to kill people, was that you had to stand next to it while you watched them drown.

Back in RC #170, the mini-Aragogs jumped down from the backpack and scurried in all directions.
“Do not get too comfortable, “ James warned. “I’m sure at least some of you have homes you have to go back to.” He then turned and looked at Saxo. Saxo looked at him.
Finally, Saxo said: “I still hate you, of course.”
“Naturally,” James said. In truth, he was relieved to hear this.
“We are still going to fight each other, almost to death,” Saxo continued.
“I would not have it any other way.”
“As soon as I’ve had some tea. I could really use a cup after this mission.”
“I quite fancy one myself. Would you care for a game of Scrabble, while we drink our tea?”
Saxo raised an eyebrow. “I suppose I won’t mind. Just as long as everything is clear between us.”
“Perfectly clear,” James said.
“Very well then. Earl Grey or Oolong? And we have biscuits, I see.”

Eledhwen and Christianne team up with Mittens and the Radioactive Moss Creature from the Department of Floaters to take out a confusing Twilight/Sherlock Crossover Sue.

The console in RC #170 gave a small [Bing]. Mittens frowned, got up and pressed the button to read the message, then turned to the RMC.

“It says we are to go to RC #9L0121F4114C3 and await further instructions. It also says to bring the Fictionary.”

Saxo groaned. “Not another Twilight mission.”

Mittens gave a small cough. “I’m sorry. I should have been more specific. When I said ‘we’ I only meant the Radioactive Moss Creature and I.”

“But,” James asked, “what are we, I mean, him,” the small fox-person shot a dirty look at Saxo, “and me supposed to do in the meantime?”

“Don’t kill each other,” Mittens replied.

“Read a book,” the RMC suggested.

“Keep an eye on the minis, Aniseed and the Prefect Badger,” Mittens continued.

“Or watch a movie or play a game.”

“Don’t break anything.”

“One cannot know too many canons.”

“And for the love of whatever …”

“Just …”

“Don’t get into trouble!” the two agents finished together.

James saluted. Saxo just nodded once.

“Good,” the RMC said. “Mittens, will you get our equipment and then we’ll be on our way?”

A couple of minutes later, the door slammed shut behind the two agents and Saxo and James were left to eye each other nervously.


“You think they’ll manage?” Mittens asked. Both he and the RMC were walking backwards, having found that this was the fastest way to get to their destination in HQ. Constantly walking into walls, furniture and occasionally other people, was very distracting.

“It’s a swim or sink situation,” the RMC replied. “They’ll have to learn eventually. One more mission and they’ll be full agents and then they’ll probably be assigned to …” It bumped into what turned out to be some female agents and turned to apologize before continuing. “To their own RC and won’t have us around to keep them in line anyway.”

“Yes, but …” Mittens would have liked to talk this over some more, which of course meant that when he bumped into something and turned to look at it, it was a door with RC #9L0121F4114C3 written on it; they had arrived. They turned around and Mittens knocked on the door.


After a long and terrifying [BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP] from the console which ended with Christianne hitting it repeatedly with a katana (relic from her Naruto days), the tired agent sat down heavily and stared at the fic that came up.

“Fuck,” she muttered. Her partner Eledhwen raised an eyebrow as she looked up from where she lay, almost corpse-like, on her bed.

Sevin dhaw?” asked the elleth.

Christianne blinked. “You only taught me cursewords. What?”

“May I?” Eledhwen snickered.

Christianne raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you swung that way.”

“What does my swinging have to do with things?”

“…” Christianne rolled her eyes. “Never you mind. Are there gay Elves?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” replied Eledhwen, shrugging. “No one has ever been marginalised for it, if that’s the case. We are all Eru’s children.”

“Yeah, I wish some people would remember that sort of thing.” Christianne turned back to the console. “That’s…” she paused, blinked, and tried to read it again. “I… what on earth… I’m confused…”

Eledhwen got up and walked over to the console, looking at the screen with a frown.

“Twilight… and Sherlock,” she mumbled, grimacing. “Sparklepires, hm?”

Christianne made a gagging noise. “At least we’ll have some help with this from some Floaters in RC… 170, wasn’t it?” she reasoned. “Can’t be that bad –”

She was interrupted by a knock at the door and faint cackling from above, which signified that the Ironic Overpower was about to become very, very active.

Eledhwen leapt to her feet. “That must be the Floaters,” she reasoned, nancing over to the door (Christianne scowled at that) and opening it. “Suil! Ni veren an gi ngovaned. Im Eledhwen Elerossiel.”

The two agents standing on the other side of the door only stared blankly at her. Christianne rolled her eyes.

“Ellie, they don’t understand Sindarin.”

Eledhwen huffed in annoyance. “Greetings,” she repeated, in a much less chipper tone. “I am happy to meet you. My name is Eledhwen Elerossiel.”

One of the agents, a very unremarkable looking young man, took a step forward and held out his hand in an awkward way that suggested that while he had heard of the concept of handshakes, he had never actually tried it and furthermore, he was not sure what it was supposed to be good for. Eledhwen took his hand, trying to look polite about it, and then let go.

“I am Agent Mittens,” he said. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Agent Elerossiel.” He gestured next to him and downwards. Both Eledhwen and Christianne tried hard to not stare at the green anteater with the brown fedora on its head. And was it made of… moss? Even for the PPC, that was weird.

“This is my partner, the Radioactive Moss Creature.”

“Radioactive?” Christianne echoed, noticing to her own annoyance that her voice sounded a tiny bit squeaky.

“It’s not at a dangerous level,” Agent Mittens said. “Just enough to let a Geiger counter know it’s there.”

“Oh,” Christianne said, looking at the Moss Creature curiously. It was kind of cute, with big soulful eyes, even though it was hard to tell how eyes made of moss could be soulful. A small cough from Eledhwen brought her back to the present situation. She looked up.

Mittens had his hand stretched out towards her and an uncertain look on his face, as if he was wondering if he had messed up this handshaking thing. Christianne quickly grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously.

“I’m Christianne Shieh,” she said.

“Pleased to meet you, Agent Shieh.”

“You too, Agent Mittens,” Christianne said, making up for her lapse in manners. “And you, Agent Radioactive Moss Creature.”

It nodded its head at her. It was amazing that the hat didn’t slide off.

“So, with the introductions taken care of!” Eledhwen beamed, walking back to the console. “Crossover between BBC Sherlock and Twilight. I know Chrissy is very cynical about Sparklepires –”

“So are you –” cut in Christianne.

Eledhwen glared at her. “I know we only know enough about the Twilight canon to be cynical about it. What about you, then? How much do you know?”

“Er, not much,” Mittens replied. “But we have this thing called a Fictionary that tells us everything we need to know in a canon.”

“Interesting,” Eledhwen said. “How does it work?”

Mittens looked down at the Radioactive Moss Creature, which said something that sounded like: “Ike a cao asys evice.”

“Like a Canon Analysis Device,” Mittens translated. “Only it gives longer descriptions.”

“Sounds useful,” Christianne observed. “That is, as long as it doesn’t short out near OOC canons, or…”

Mittens shrugged. “Right now it seems that all it does is get us sent into Twilight crossovers.”

“Sounds like fun,” Christianne deadpanned. “Well, it seems like we’re all set to go. We’ve got a Crash Dummy, for the first-person nature of the fic, too. So if you’re packed and ready as well, then maybe we should just hop to it?”

“ouns ike a lan,” the RMC said.

“Sounds like a plan,” Mittens translation-repeated.

“You have your Bleeprin?” Eledhwen asked, her hand hovering over the console.

“Copious amounts,” Mittens replied.

“Good.” The elleth wasn’t quite sure about the two agents they were about to go on a mission with, but anyone who knew to bring large quantities of Bleeprin couldn’t be completely wet behind the ears. “Disguises, then? I could be wrong, being from Arda and all, but the people of Forks might not consider a mossy anteater-creature a normal fixture of the local fauna.”

“Uman dsguses fr you n me,” agreed the RMC.

Nodding, Eledhwen pressed the corresponding buttons. She then opened the portal, set the Me Crash Dummy on the other side, and pulled the string. “Onwards to Forks, then.”


“So, exactly what century are we in?” demanded Christianne as soon as the portal faded and the four humans – or one human, two humanoids, and a plant-based creature disguised as a human – landed outside an ordinary-looking house in the sun-deprived town of Forks, Washington.

“I should hope I set the time to twenty-first century,” Eledhwen replied, drawing out her long-neglected Polaroid and taking pictures of the trees. Everything was so green; it was so refreshing!

Christianne groaned with the air of someone whose friend had missed the joke. “Just look at the words, lembas-head,” she grumbled.

“I could be wrong,” Mittens mumbled as he pulled out of his word-reading trance, “but it could indicate a German-speaking background…”

“Well, as long as she’s not using the long S we’ll assume this isn’t the seventeenth century,” grumbled Christianne.

“Look on the brighter side,” Eledhwen chirped from above them – the agents looked up to see their Elvish colleague sitting in a tree, peering into a window at the side of the house. “At least the Sue uses some dialogue punctuation. As opposed to, you know, dropping it completely.”

Christianne rolled her eyes. “Like we needed to be reminded of that,” she muttered. In a louder voice, she asked, “Well, then? What’s the Sue up to?”

“She’s calling Sherlock,” Eledhwen reported, already jotting down charges as the Crash Dummy continued her call, evidently in hysterics of some sort. “I think she told us to ‘answer the damn phone’ earlier. Is that a charge?”

“Probably,” agreed the RMC, who, in human form, still bore a brown fedora. It looked suitably androgynous, with green hair that would look, to any onlookers, like a rather bad dye job. It was also clad in green clothing.

“A foul scent lingers in the air,” Eledhwen declared suddenly, as the Sue hung up. “It has the odour of Stulock.”

“Not again!” complained Christianne.

Eledhwen shrugged. “It could just be out of character behaviour,” she reasoned. “Hard to tell from one call. She’s now turned into Cat, with a capital C.”

“What?” The RMC demanded, and then checked the words. “Oh, right. Feline grace. I see.”

Eledhwen was frowning again. “I think she’s in two places at once. Isn’t her room on the second floor?”

“Isn’t that where bedrooms tend to be?” Christianne wondered.

“She said she was rushing downstairs, and then she starts replacing things in her room, which suggests that she went back upstairs, because Charlie’s calling from downstairs, but –” Eledhwen cut off. “I have a headache.”

“You mean to say she’s defying the laws of physics?” asked the RMC.

“Possibly, yes,” Eledhwen replied, jotting down the charge. “Is that what you call it?”

“Being in two places at once, defying gravity, those sorts of things, yeah,” agreed the RMC. “Either that, or she actually has all of her personal belongings in the bathroom.”

Eledhwen nodded, and resumed spying on the Sue’d Crash Dummy.

“I’m confused,” Mittens said suddenly, looking up from the Fictionary. “Is she or is she not Bella Swan?”

“Excellent question. I’m not sure.” Christianne checked the words. “Looks like a character replacement to me, considering her situation. She’s supposed to be in hiding as Bella Swan, right?”

“Yes, she took out a set of dice from her hair a couple minutes ago,” Eledhwen called. “But if she’s in hiding to the point where she maintains the persona even at her house, then why tell Charlie that Sherlock was coming over? Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose of hiding the skull?”

“Why would she even own a skull? It’s not a Holmes accessory,” sniffed Christianne.

“And why is she in hiding to begin with? And why is it suddenly more important to get Sherlock over, than to remain incognito?” Mittens added.

“The Cullens just showed up,” Eledhwen announced.

“I’ll go have a look,” the RMC agreed as it got the Fictionary from Mittens and climbed up next to her. A few moments later it was shaking its head as it checked the Fictionary. “If she never tried to kill herself, then there’s no reason for them to return. And why is she acting like she doesn’t care about them, when she was heartbroken a minute before?”

“Did Emmett just call her Belly-Bean?” Eledhwen asked, disgusted.

Both Christianne and Mittens looked at the words. Bella was asking Charlie if she could ‘deduce’ Edward.

Mittens facepalmed. “You know him. You’ve been in a relationship with him. What do you think you’ll be able to deduce that you don’t already know?”

“That’s a dangerous assumption, that Bella thinks at all,” muttered Christianne.

That question was never answered, as Bella was interrupted by her phone.

“Trying to hide the fact that she couldn’t deduce her way out of a paper bag,” Christianne snarked. Mittens smirked.

“She just told them to leave and now she’s taking a bath. Again,” the RMC reported from further up. “This time she shaved. I suppose it is refreshing to have a Sue who isn’t naturally smooth as a marble statue.”

Eledhwen made a disgusted noise. “Mycroft is being all warm and fuzzy.”

Christianne and Mittens checked the words again, just in time to raise their arms to protect them from a minor punctuation rain and then hold their ears to block out the bellow of an author’s note.

“New chapter, incoming!” Christianne yelled.


“She spelled Stephenie Meyer’s name wrong. Why am I not surprised?” Christianne demanded as soon as the disclaimer of the second chapter ended and a mini-Sparklewolf called ‘Stephanie’ dropped out of nowhere.

“Poor mini has nowhere to go,” lamented Mittens. “Can’t be adopted, and there’s no OFU for Twilight… is there?”

“Let’s not discuss what they’d attempt to teach there,” Christianne grumbled as the glittering canine nipped at her ankles.

There was a lurch in the ground suddenly, as the story inexplicably skipped to a week after the first scene. Eledhwen retched, fumbling for the motion sickness pills in her bag. She nearly upended the entire bottle into her mouth.

“You all right?” asked the RMC.

“I’ve been worse,” Eledhwen replied, shrugging.

“DoSAT’s trying to work on a set of LCD shutter glasses that might be able to help with spatial distortions, but I’m not sure about temporal ones,” Christianne added helpfully as Eledhwen clambered down from the tree, the RMC in tow.

“We should portal to the airport,” Mittens added. “She’ll be there in a moment.”

Eledhwen looked at the words. The Sue had gotten dressed, describing her outfit in painstaking detail, and then –

“Rhiach!” swore the elleth, as the ground lurched again – a bit softer, this time, but still noticeable. Isabella-Sue had more or less driven herself and her car to the airport via temporal distortion, and Eledhwen certainly looked worse for wear for it. With shaking hands, she opened a portal to the airport, and the four of them stepped through.

15 minutes and 39 seconds later My impala was parked in front of the Airport, waiting for Mycroft, Sherlock, and John’s plane to land.

The RMC consulted the Fictionary. “Bella Swan’s car can’t be a Chevrolet Impala,” it said, as the Sue’d Crash Dummy left her car to get a coffee.

“No, isn’t that the car that the Winchesters use in Supernatural?” asked Christianne.

The RMC nodded. “That’s a little ironic,” it snickered.

“Admittedly, though, since she didn’t capitalise Impala, it’s safe to assume she actually meant the animal.” Eledhwen pointed out, and sure enough, the sleek yet slightly outdated (it was an old model, according to John) automobile turned into a grazing African impala.

“Have fun explaining that,” snickered Christianne as they entered the arrivals terminal of the airport. Up ahead, Isabella saw a curly head that, apparently, belonged to Sherlock.

“Sherlock!”Running as fast as I could towards him, I jumped on him, hugging the daylights out of him.

The agents were treated to a not-very-pretty scene of a Crash Dummy with curly black hair and blue eyes tackleglomping Sherlock and squeezing rays of sunlight right out of his body. And for some unexplained reason, Sherlock didn’t seem to mind.

Eledhwen’s heavy-duty CAD screeched. The elleth yelped, ducking behind a generic baggage carousel and pulling out the device. It flashed at her:

[Sherlock Holmes. Human Male. Canonononono what is going on? He can’t touch canon with a 221-metre long pole at the very LEAST. Out of Character 78.49950349823847% CHARACTER RUPTURE!]

“So snarky,” grumbled the elleth as she straightened up and aimed the CAD at Mycroft and then John.

[Mycroft Holmes. Human Male. Canon???? Length of pole needed to touch canon: 150.33242343 metres. Out of Character 67.2474747474747474747% CHARACTER RUPTURE!]

[John Watson. Human Male. Canon. Length of pole needed to touch canon: 95.32454764321456432465. Out of Character 49.9999999999%]

“It’s always the Holmeses,” Christianne remarked, leaning over Eledhwen’s shoulder to peer at the screen.

“Admittedly, it is rather hard to write insufferable geniuses right, especially in canons that seek to develop their personalities,” Mittens pointed out.

“Doesn’t excuse what Izzy-Sue’s doing to Sherlock and Mycroft,” Christianne grumbled as Eledhwen pocketed the CAD.

Meanwhile, back with the Sue, it appeared that her cheeks were now composed of acute and obtuse angles, and that she had temporarily fused herself with Sherlock only to ‘detach [her]self from Sherlock’s body’ to hug Mycroft.

John then used the wrong form of ‘two’, causing four identical cringes a couple feet away, and fused himself with Izzy-Sue in a hug. Four agents reached for their Bleeprin.

“Hello, Izzy! I missed you. You were the only one that kept Sherlock in line.” He smiles and let go of me. “Why don’t we head to you home and settle in, then we can catch up, okay?”

For a moment, the world shifted into present tense, and Eledhwen rushed for the nearest toilets. “She has it bad,” remarked Mittens sympathetically, patting Christianne’s back. Christianne shrugged.

“I’m trying to figure out what she can do to get rid of it,” she replied, shrugging.

“Have you tried chocolate milk?” the RMC suggested. “Could help a bit with the timey-wimey things.”

“I thought that was a symptom of someone fucking with time, not a cure,” Christianne pointed out.

“Chocolate’s a cure-all,” declared Mittens, grinning. “Or at least that’s what Johanna tells me all the time.”

“Johanna?” Christianne looked at him curiously. “Your girlfriend?”

Mittens blushed a rather unfetching shade of scarlet. “Nonono, she’s not. She a friend of my boss. Former boss, I should say. Wait,” he looked at the Sue, “did she just say it would take them an hour to drive back to Forks? Even though it took her just over 15 minutes the other way?”

Christianne raised an eyebrow. “Nice try, but I still want to hear some more about your not-girlfriend. And banging your head into the wall isn’t going to distract me either.”

“Mittens,” the RMC snapped, “just have some more Bleeprin and lets portal back.” It looked around. “Once Eledhwen gets back from the restroom.”

“There’s a cliffhanger at the end of the chapter,” Christianne added, as Mittens downed a tablet of Bleeprin.

“No kidding, Sherlock,” Eledhwen deadpanned as she returned from the restroom. She was looking almost as green as the RMC’s hair.

“At least she didn’t write ‘Dun-dun-dunn!’ at the end,” the RMC pointed out. “Incoming author’s note!”


“Well, that was stupid,” Mittens said when it was once again safe to remove one’s hands from one’s ears. They’d portalled from the airport back to the Swan residence, just in time to see…

Moriarty stood above Charlie’s body, laughing. I felt the tears begin to pool in my eyes, but I fought to hold them back, refusing to show weakness in front of him.

“Sh-sherlock!” I screamed in hopes of getting away from Moriarty, the only man I had ever feared.

“Oh, great,” Christianne grumbled, pointing to Charlie’s corpse. The Crash Dummy Sue was sobbing and screaming for Sherlock, as if just yelling Sherlock’s name would protect her from a deranged criminal mastermind. “Now we got a dead canon on our hands.”

“We’ll just take him to Medical. I hear they’re really good at fixing these things,” Mittens stated matter-of-factly.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Eledhwen said stiffly, “because then we can focus on how complete and utterly wrong it is for Moriarty to get his hands dirty like this.”

“Is that … is that ‘worry plastered across his face’?” Mittens asked, pointing at Sherlock. They all stared, then reached for some more Bleeprin.

“At least she didn’t say that he had it staple-gunned on his face,” Christianne said, through a mouthful of pills.

“You’ve actually experienced that?” the RMC asked.

“No, but now that I’ve mentioned it I’m sure the Ironic Overpower will make sure it happens,” she replied with a sigh. The RMC and Mittens cringed; Eledhwen was too busy trying to remember what a staple gun was.

Moriarty then somehow managed to take out the blood from his knife without the handkerchief he’d just pulled out. Because he had his lines in three separate paragraphs, that only added to the confusion by creating three Moriarties.

“Well, you know, there were three James Moriarties in the original canon,” Christianne muttered, rolling her eyes.

Mittens raised an eyebrow. “There were?”

“Two,” Eledhwen amended. “Two James Moriarties, and a third Moriarty brother everyone just assumes to also be called James.”

“I bet that made calling for them around the house extremely easy on his mother,” deadpanned Mittens.

“Now Sherlock, Who’s more important your Dear Baby Sister or your Dear Doctor? Tik-tok, Sherlock, Tik-tok”

And without further warning, the song “Tik Tok” began to play. “Why do we never think to bring Glopsnerch?” demanded Eledhwen to Christianne, who had her fingers plugged into her ears. Much to Christianne’s chagrin, the annoyingly autotuned voice of Ke$ha could still be heard.

“Because you’re a forgetful idiot!” Christianne shouted back. Mittens and the RMC watched them rather bemusedly, both of them having produced matching sets of Glopsnerch earmuffs.

The Crash Dummy Sue started to cry, somehow ‘ruinging’ her makeup. The following bits of dialogue had other people’s actions tagged to them, making it seem as if Mycroft, who was then running through the door looking uncharacteristically ‘worried and angry’, was saying Moriarty’s lines.

“I have a headache,” Christianne grumbled as the Sue turned ‘parylized with fear’. Exactly how one turned parylized was a mystery, but it looked extremely painful.

Mycroft then made some ultra-dramatic declarations about having guards everywhere (Christianne valiantly resisted banging her head against a nearby tree trunk and resorted instead to wringing and ripping leaves and blades of grass as if they were the Sue), the Sue was shot in the arm, and the cops showed up to arrest Moriarty, accompanied by a mini-Hound called LeStrade. Moriarty made some stupid clichéd dramatic statements at Sherlock, and Lestrade – LeStrade, apparently – had the gall to call the American police force ‘incompetent idiots’.

“Character Replacement,” Eledhwen said immediately as Christianne put the drooling mini-Hound into her pack. “We’re going to have to split up. Mittens, you and Chrissy can charge the Sue. The RMC and I will find the plothole that contains Lestrade.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Mittens gave a smart salute. Eledhwen shot him a puzzled look, but followed the RMC into the house. Mittens started fiddling with the Remote Activator.

“What are you doing?” asked Christianne.

“Oh, I’m separating her from the canons.” He pressed the button and with a small yelp of surprise, the Sue fell into the hole. Nobody heard her over the sound of an author’s note declaring that the author now had major writer’s block.

“You mean, you’ve written yourself into a corner,” Mittens remarked dryly. “And that is why we should always outline before writing.” He pressed the buttons to summon another portal, this one vertical, and stepped through with Christianne.


They landed in the forest surrounding Forks. The Crash Dummy Sue was sitting on the ground, looking thoroughly confused. “Are you vampires?” she asked.

“Oh, now you remember that they exist.” Christianne rolled her eyes.

“No,” Mittens growled. “We are something much worse. We are from the PPC and we are here to charge you.”

“Charge me? But it’s Moriarty who’s the criminal.”

“And he’ll get what’s coming to him in series two,” Christianne assured her. “But right now, we want to talk about you.”

“Bella Swan,” Mittens said, “or perhaps Isabella Holmes… you are charged with replacing the real Bella Swan and with having a backstory that’s really stupid, totally inadequate, and made less and less sense as the story went on.”

“Also with being the gratuitous younger sibling of Sherlock and Mycroft,” Christianne chimed in, “and with making up the names of the Holmes’ parents without any reason.”

“Not to mention,” Mittens added, “that in the intro, you made it sound like you were the offspring of Sherlock and Mycroft. You’re also charged with having the Cullens return without explanation and with ignoring Edward and anything else having to do with the Twilight plotline, even though you were in tears over it a moment before.”

“Changing the laws of physics, or perhaps just having all your personal belongings in your bathroom.”

“In fact,” Mittens frowned, “it seems that you don’t even care about Twilight, which is normally not a charge, except when you’re writing a Twilight fanfic. You are also charged with having Emmett call you Belly-Bean, having it take a week to fly from London to Forks, being seriously inconsistent with how much time it takes to drive to the airport and with killing Charlie Swan.”

“Thus giving the already overworked people in Medical even more to do,” Christianne added.

“I didn’t kill Charlie!” Bella Swan/Isabella Holmes cried. “Moriarty did! I’m …” Mittens smacked her with the notebook until she fell quiet.

Christianne continued: “You’re also charged with creating the poor homeless mini-Sparklewolf Stephanie and the mini-Hound LeStrade, with replacing Lestrade with some idiot who brings a plothole full of British police to America, with cheapening the friendship between Sherlock and John, with upstaging John by claiming that you’re the one who keeps Sherlock in line. You’re charged with making Mycroft act all warm and fuzzy, with throwing Moriarty wildly out of character by making him kill someone in person and then get caught in the act, with ripping off the scene at the swimming pool in ‘The Great Game’, and with causing a Ke$ha song to play.”

“Then there are all your crimes against grammar, punctuation and spelling. Too many to mention, so I’ll just point out your extreme cruelty to homonyms and the fact that you capitalized words after commas. What do you think this is, the seventeenth century? It wasn’t even correct back then.”

“And we almost forgot,” Christianne finished, “the most important. You are charged with being an insufferable Mary Sue.”

“I thought the most important was ‘annoying PPC agents’?”

“Well… yes, that too.”

“Any way, for that you are sentenced to die. Any last words?”

“I want my big brother!” the Crash Dummy Sue shouted.

“He’s not your brother – and believe me, as soon as he snaps out of it he would not want you,” Christianne snapped, voice oozing with acid.

“How should we kill her?” Mittens asked. “The Radioactive Moss Creature and I usually go for something canonical.”

Christianne mused over this for a moment. “I suppose we could stuff her in the apartment next to the old lady’s right before everything blows up.”

“She’s a Crash Dummy. DoSAT will have our heads if we destroy the dummy.”

“Point.” Christianne sighed, and nodded at Mittens. “Shoot her.”

Mittens raised an eyebrow, taking out his Five-Seven. “You sure you don’t want to?” Behind them, the Sue continued to blubber and wail. She even tried to escape, but Christianne had her gun aimed at her in an instant.

“I insist,” drawled the assassin, so Mittens did. The Dummy crumpled to the ground as the Sue Spirit screamed in agony, rushing out of the Dummy and exploding in the air right before their faces. As the last bits of Glitter floated down, the Dummy folded itself back into a cube.

Christianne picked up the cube. “Well, that’s that. Let’s get back to the house.”


Meanwhile Eledhwen and the RMC had located the plothole holding the real Bella Swan and Lestrade. It turned out to be in the gravity defying bathroom, where the Sue had tried to keep all her personal belongings. The RMC pocketed the skull; it would make a nice souvenir for Mittens.

“Right,” Eledhwen said, turning to Lestrade, flashing the Neuralyzer. “You have never been to Forks, and even if you had, you would know better than to bring British police with you and order the local force around. This has all been a rather strange dream brought on by too much coffee and doughnuts. Now back to London with you.” She opened a portal and waved him through. Then she handed the Neuralyzer to the RMC, who turned to Bella.

“Bella Swan,” it said. “Edward is still gone and – much as I’m averse to telling you this – you’ll soon jump off a cliff in an attempt to hear his voice in your mind again,” It grimaced. “The things we have to tell the Twilight canons to do,” it muttered.

“Speaking of which,” Eledhwen said, “we still have to find Edward and the rest of the Cullens.”

“She threw them out, so I’m guessing they are somewhere outside the house waiting to be used again.”

It didn’t take them long to locate the Cullens; the sparkling vampires were wandering aimlessly through a different part of the forest. They were near the infamous meadow in which Edward and Bella stared at each other; Edward was now looking tall, sparkly, and broody. Eledhwen had to suppress the bile threatening to rise.

“Cullens! If you can all look here, please,” she instructed, waving the Neuralyzer at them. Another flash. “This has all been a very strange dream. You will not discuss anything about Isabella Swan looking any more different than before. You will all go your separate ways until Alice receives the vision of Bella jumping off a cliff. Rosalie will tell Edward that Bella has committed suicide, and Edward, that’ll be your cue for you to make a fool of yourself in Volterra.”

“Do not bother contacting Bella until then,” added the RMC. “You are canonically obliged to remain oblivious to her suffering, thinking you left her for her own good. Don’t worry; you’ll be back by the third book.”

Eledhwen opened a portal, and the Cullens stepped through. Once the last one – Edward – had disappeared, she opened another one to the front of Charlie’s house, where Christianne and Mittens were dispatching the other Sherlock canons.

“How’s Charlie?” asked Eledhwen, as Moriarty left through the fading blue doorway. Christianne gestured to the corpse on the table next to them.

“Dead,” she pointed out bluntly.

“Very helpful. Let’s get him to Medical.”


“Oh, it’s you two,” Nurse McKay remarked drily to Christianne and Eledhwen as the four agents dragged in Charlie Swan’s corpse. “You couldn’t have stepped in before he got killed?”

“The fact he got killed at all was the breach in canon,” Eledhwen replied cheerily. “How is little Muriel doing?”

“She’s fine,” replied the nurse, scowling over the paperwork for Charlie. “Run along now.”

Once out of Medical, Christianne groaned. “She makes us sound like naughty children.”

“It’s because you are,” Eledhwen replied calmly. The RMC huffed in laughter, and the four of them made their way back to RC #9L0121F4114C3.

Once back at the RC, Christianne opened her pack and took out LeStrade; it bounded over to Mittens and licked his face quite thoroughly. Mittens laughed, ruffling the mini-Hound’s fluorescent green fur.

“So…” he remarked as LeStrade drooled all over his face, “you’ll be taking care of the mini-Hound?”

Christianne rolled her eyes. “He seems to like you. Sure you want me to drop him off at the Modern Baker Street Fanfiction Academy?”

“I…” Mittens trailed off, looking at the RMC nervously. The RMC shrugged as well as it could, being back in its original form. Mittens looked down at LeStrade longingly. “I’ll keep him,” he said after a moment. “That is, if it’s not too much trouble…”

“I’m sure Messrs Ben and Marty have enough minis on their hands,” Eledhwen replied bracingly.

“No, I meant if it’s not too much trouble for my partner. Is it?” Mittens turned to the RMC again, the expression on his face rather reminiscent of the ‘puppy dog eyes’ look.

“Ure,” said the RMC. Mittens beamed, and packed LeStrade into his own pack. “So I spose thi s t, fo now,” the mossy Floater added, shuffling its paws a bit awkwardly.

“It has been a privilege to work alongside you,” Eledhwen replied, putting a hand to her chest in farewell. “If you ever need help with anything Sherlock related …”

“Or other stuff!” Christianne chimed in. “We can do lots of other stuff!”

“Yes, thank you,” Eledhwen muttered, frowning slightly. “As I think my partner was trying to say, if you need our help with anything, do not hesitate to contact us.”

“E won’t,” the RMC said. “Bye fo …”


“Betr get tha,” it finished. “E’ll be off.”

“Not a moment’s peace,” Christianne muttered as she pressed the button and started to read the Intelligence Report. “Not a damn moment’s peace.”

[Lily’s Notes: For the morbidly curious, as always: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7922325/1/The-Strange-Life-Of-Isabella-Holmes

I, er, have no sarcastic comments about this fic that weren’t already said in the Consulting Sue Slayer report of the fic. So yeah.  Obligatory apologies to Emma-Queen of the Nerds.

Elvish, as always, is brought to you all by the fantastic people at Merin Essi Ar Quenteli. This mission has most of the Elvish translated in-text, and ‘Rhiach’ means curses.

For my Agents, this mission should take place before “The Missing Tales of Winnie Breccan”.  Timey-wimey shenanigans for the win!]

[Eileen’s Notes:  (I say, Author’s Notes at the end? What a novel idea!) This has been my first collaborative mission and it was a lot of fun to write. I’ll not go into how horrible this fic was and how glad I was to kill it, but just note that if someone is writing a Twilight fanfic, they should love the canon, or failing that, hate it passionately; being ‘Meh’ about it makes for a very confusing fic. Oh, and the Fictionary was invented by Tungsten Monk and is used with permission.]