Epilogue 02 – The Nusery

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.

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Ski Trip aka. Much Improbable Such Random Wow

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.

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”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.

SORRY THE CHAPTER WAS SO SHORT I WILL MAKE IT LONGER IF YOU GUYS LIKED THIS ONE AND PLESE REVIEW.

“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.”

“Hello.”
“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 …”

“Improbable?”

“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.”

“What?”

“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.

Baby
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.

BABY!

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?”

“Nope.”

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

“Nu-uh.”

“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.
I KNOW ITS SAD. PLEASE R&R.

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?”

“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?”

“Nope.”

“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.

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Interlude 03 – The Reannual

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.

Ah, 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.

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Daughter Of A Winchester aka. Saving Canons, Hunting Sues

[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.
“No.”
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.
[Flash]
“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.]

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Epilogue 01 – Sparklewolves and Scrabble

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.

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The Strange Life of Isabella Holmes

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 …”

[BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!]

“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.]

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The Vampire, The Ice Queen and the Wardrobe aka. Enter the Fictionary

Disclaimer: Narnia belongs to the estate of C. S. Lewis. Twilight belongs to Stephanie Meyer. ‘The Vampire,The Ice Queen and the Wardrobe’ belongs to Jill.x, who can keep it. The PPC belongs to Jay and Acacia; I’m only playing in it. Mittens, the Radioactive Moss Creature, Saxo Cruore and James Vulpes are mine. The quote about the coat is from Bum Reviews and belongs to Doug Walker.

The atmosphere in RC#170 was tenser than usual. Agent Mittens was sitting in front of the TV, playing Okami; his back rigid, as if he was prepared to turn around at any moment. Agents James Vulpes and Saxo Cruore were sitting in their beanbags, each reading a book, very carefully avoiding even glancing at each other. The RMC was playing Okamiden on its hand-held console and would occasionally look up at the three other agents, sigh inwardly, then focus on its game once more. The minis, the Prefect Badger and Aniseed, the Tulip Cat, were all playing a game of ‘let’s see who can be quietest’.

It had been somewhere around three days since their last mission. Of course, it was hard to tell, time being what it was in HQ, but James and Saxo needed to sleep and eat and that made it possible to keep track. When not sleeping and eating, they spend the most of their time getting in each other’s throats and on Mittens’ and the RMC’s nerves.

The RMC had hoped, that getting an appreciation for each other’s canons would help them bond and had therefore made James read the Harry Potter books and Saxo watch the Labyrinth. It hadn’t been a success. James had liked the Harry Potter books very much – although he was occasionally scandalised by how many rules the children in the book broke – but the more he read about the Death Eaters, the more hostile he grew towards Saxo. Saxo, on the other hand, hadn’t liked the Labyrinth at all. He complained that the depictions of various magical creatures were all wrong, the magic made no sense and he was upset that a Muggle girl had been able to defeat someone who was almost a wizard, even if the magic was senseless. He had voiced these opinions loudly in front of James. By now it was an almost constant battle for the RMC and Mittens to keep them from getting into a lethal fight.

Something had to snap and this morning something finally had. Mittens and the RMC had been up all night playing games, enjoying the silence. When the other two awoke, the RMC had been on an errand to the Canon Library and Mittens was still playing, trying to ignore what he knew was coming. And then, just as he had reached his second-favourite cutscene and had started to tear up, because it was so heartbreaking, Saxo had slammed open the door to the bathroom and in a loud voice announced that from now on, James would have to use the bathroom last, because he was sick of the drain clogging with hair. James had bristled and, as usual, had challenged Saxo to a duel. Normally, the RMC would deflate these situations, but it hadn’t been there.

Instead Mittens had turned around and told them, in a very calm voice, exactly what he would do to them if they did not stop their bickering this instant. It had been a very detailed explanation; the word ‘kneecaps’ had been used quite a lot and while some of the things sounded rather outlandish, none of them could be said to be actually impossible. It was the kind of threat that would have made Mittens’ instructor back in Hell give a curt nod of approval.

When the RMC got back, both James and Saxo were sitting very still in their beanbags. Each was holding a book, looking at the pages, but long stretches of time went on between them actually turning a page, suggesting that they were finding it difficult to concentrate. The RMC didn’t ask what had happened.

Ironically, the RMC had been in the Canon Library to get an extra copy of the first three seasons of Merlin. Since learning about each others canons hadn’t really done anything to improve the relationship between the new agents, it had thought, that maybe they could bond over a different canon. Merlin had the rulebound magic that Saxo seemed to crave, and knights and fair maidens, that James loved, so it seemed perfect. But this was a theory which would have to be tested another time.

Just as Mittens reached his very favourite cutscene, the console went BEEEEEEEEEP!! He glared at it, in a way that suggested he could think of creative things to do to electronics as well, but the console ignored his look and went on beeping. He got up, pressed the button to acknowledge the mission and started reading the report. Then he frowned.

“This has got to be a mistake. It’s a crossover between Narnia and Twilight.” He turned. “Any of you know Twilight?” he asked, rather accusingly.

Both James and Saxo quickly shook their heads.

The RMC merely looked thoughtfully. “This would explain why we were sent to get that Fictionary. The Twilight canon is so popular, that there are far more crossovers, threatening other continua, than there are agents actually versed in Twilight, who can take them on.”

Mittens rummaged around until he found the Fictionary on a shelf under a tea cosy and stuffed it in the backpack.

He checked the report again. “It’s in first person. So we’re going to need a Crash Dummy.” He rummaged around some more, looking for the dummy, which he finally found under the fridge, where Aniseed had probably batted it.

The RMC turned to the other two agents who had gotten to their feet, still avoiding looking at each other.

“I’ve heard about first person fics,” Saxo said. “All kinds of things can wrong.”

“As opposed to the fics we usually deal with, you mean?” the RMC asked mildly. “You can write the charge list.” It turned to James. “You’re in charge of the CAD. Remember to always check that it’s muted before you point it at something.”

“What should we go as?” Mittens asked, bending over the console once more. “The first chapter is in England, but it’s very brief and then she goes to Narnia.”

“In that case,” the RMC replied, “we’ll go as fauns. We’ll just keep hidden for the first part.”

“I’m not going as a half-human!” Saxo said. Mittens and the RMC turned to look at him and he looked nervous, but stubborn. “Well, I just wont.”

“Fine,” the RMC said. “No-one is forcing you to go as a half-human. Mittens, make him wholly goat.”

“Um … Eh … On second thought, being a faun sounds great.”

“How nice,” the RMC said dryly.

Mittens, allowing himself a brief smirk, set the disguises, handed everyone their weapons and opened the portal. He pulled the string on the dummy and threw it in, then the agents followed.

I walked into my room, confused about what Professor Cedric had said.

‘Don’t use the wardrobe, it’s dangerous.’

They stood in a generic room. The dummy had, rather anticlimactically, landed on the floor and was just lying there. A girl with her back to them was walking into another room, which, from what they could see of it, was equally generic.

“So she’s not a Sue,” muttered Mittens, picking up the dummy and tying it to the backpack for easy access if they needed it later.

“I would like to know,” the RMC said, while pulling out the Fictionary, “who this Professor Cedric is, since the professor from ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’ was named Digory Kirke.”

“Has he been replaced with someone from Twilight?” James asked.

“Fictionary says no,” the RMC said after consulting the devise. It looked up. “I’m guessing she either got the name wrong or simply made something up. Either way, we have our first charge.”

Of course that sounded stupid. But he was a very smart man, so I figured out I could better listen to him. A voice somewhere in my head kept repeating the words in my head:

“I would love to know where else the words in her head would be repeated,” Saxo said.

“That’s one for the Department of Redundancy Department,” Mittens agreed. “Write the charge.”

Don’t use the wardrobe.. Don’t use the wardrobe.. Don’t use the wardrobe..

Both stating that the words were being repeated and actually repeating made the phrase echo. Apparently, generic walls did nothing good for the acoustics.

It was pretty scary. I came into my room and the first thing I saw was the amazing wardrobe . It was made of old, brown wood. I let my fingers slide over it, was careful that I didn’t touch something I shouldn’t touch. I’m Isabella Swan, Bella for short. I’m 15 years old and was send to my fathers friend Professor Cedric, because my parent’s couldn’t take care of me. My attention always got back to the wardrobe.

“No!” James broke in. “The wardrobe was in a completely empty room, not in anyone’s bedroom.”

“Not to mention,” the RMC said, “that the professor never warned the children about the wardrobe.”

“And,” James added, “why have the wardrobe in her room, if it is dangerous? The house is enormous; he could easily hide it somewhere and lock the door.”

“So we’re what?” Saxo asked, frowning. “In the first paragraph of the story? And already there’s a complete breakdown of canon and logic.”

“Not to mention an awful attempt at back story,” the RMC said. “Why couldn’t her parents take care of her? How does she feel about being sent here? How long has she been here? Is she American or English, because if it’s the first, I’m dying to learn why her parents thought a war-torn country was the best place for her and if it’s the latter, I really want to know why she didn’t just come here because of the War like everyone else.”

“Well, apparently she has multiple fathers,” Mittens said, pointing at the sentence in the Words. “I’m all for that, but if this takes place during the War, it must have been quite unusual.”

“Charge for ignoring canon,” the RMC said, “ignoring common sense and having a back story with more holes than your average Swiss cheese.”

“And now she’s going through the wardrobe,” James said.

When Saxo had written down the charges, Mittens opened a portal to Narnia and the RMC walked through. The other three tried to follow, but only managed to stagger and stumble. It turned out that goat legs and small cloven hooves were quite difficult to manage, when you weren’t used to them. Saxo had to grab a chair to keep himself upright. James had no such luck; he fell flat on his face and had to be helped up by Mittens. Finally, they all made it through the portal, where the RMC was waiting.

They hid behind a bush and watched Bella push her way through a cluster of trees.

Then I saw something moving in the woods. I got scared immediately, I couldn’t die!

It was moving very fast and it came closer and closer. I thought about running away, but since it moved so fast, I decided that I better could stay and welcomed the dead in my arms.

The RMC lifted a hand and pinched the bridge of its nose. “So. Much. Wrong,” it said, in a pained voice. Mittens started to look in the backpack for Bleeprin.

“Her reaction makes no sense,” James said. “She gets scared, but rather than running away or trying to find her way back to the house, she just decides that it is not worth the bother, gives up and waits for certain death.”

“Not death,” Mittens said, stopping his search for a moment to point, “’the dead’, see? Clearly she thinks it’s a zombie running towards her.”

“Zombies can’t run,” Saxo said.

Mittens pulled out the bottle with a triumphant smile, then shrugged. “Must be one of those modern zombies. But yes, James, we have a charge for having an nonsensical reaction to danger. Also, for serious crimes against the English language.”

Don’t use the wardrobe.. Don’t use the wardrobe..

I used it as some kind of mantra , I kept saying it all over again..

“And we’re back at the redundancy,” Mittens said, handing out pills.

“She seems to have all the time in the world to think and speak,” Saxo said, “why doesn’t she try to do something useful?”

“Typical bad storytelling,” the RMC said with a shrug. “She wants a scene where she doesn’t have time to run away and where she is chanting the phrase, but she doesn’t realize that having that much time makes the first part ridiculous. Many badfics have moments like this, where a character try to both have the cake and eat it. It’s a charge for bad writing.”

‘Hello.’ I screamed.

I was too scared to turn and face the beautiful face, so I just kept sobbing.

Everything slowed down as the Word World tried to decide how to interpret this. Finally, with a small ‘plop’, Bella grew eyes in the back of her head so she could look at a beautiful face floating right behind her, without having to turn around.

For a second all four agents stood frozen, then they all turned away. Saxo was looking slightly green and had his hand over his mouth.

“This,” the RMC said, “calls for more Bleeprin.”

The floating face turned into Edward from Twilight who started talking to Bella.

‘Listen up, girl. I’ll tell you my story when we’re at my home; MOVE!’ he took my hand and lead me to his house. It was freezing cold and I couldn’t feel my entire body. He lead me into a little, stone house somewhere in the mountains. He gave me one of his shirts, so I could warm up.

“I forgot to bring a coat to the mountains once. No wait, I didn’t. Because even I know to bring a coat to the mountains and I’m a bum!” Mittens quoted. Saxo and James eyed him wearily, but the RMC sniggered,

“Charge for squatting in Mr. Tumnus’ house. We’ll portal after them so we don’t have to wade through the snow,” it said.

They portalled to right outside the small house and peeked through the windows. Edward was giving Bella his back story.

‘Well, I’m Edward Masen and I’m 17 years old. I came here with my brother and sister , a long time ago, when we were playing in the wardrobe of the our father..’

Mittens tilted his head. “Unless he’s claiming to be the non-canonical son on of the professor, the wardrobe has never been his father’s.”

A few years since we came here, my brother Emmett fell in love with the Ice Queen, me and Alice ,my sister, were mad at him, so we tried to talk to him. The Ice Queen, Rosalie, Didn’t like that, so she doomed us. And we’re frozen in our 17 years old body forever. We’re just like other creatures, we mean nothing to her. They call us here vampires, although we don’t drink blood. It’s weird, I know. And for your information, you’re in Narnia.

The RMC scratched its head as it checked the Fictionary. “This is all wrong. Emmett and Alice are his adopted siblings, but if he has been adopted by now, why didn’t he introduce himself as Cullen? And Rosalie is not the Ice Queen – and do charge for calling her that, rather than the White Witch – or even a native of Narnia; she’s his adopted sister as well. This isn’t following Twilight canon either, it’s just using random bits and pieces and replacing the rest. Charge for messing up both canons.”

“And what did commas ever do to this fic?” Mittens wondered aloud. “Charge for that.”
“I think there’s a new chapter,” James said and pointed at the Words coming up. “And an author’s note.”

They all covered their ears.

Hi Everybody ! Here’s chapter two in Edward’s POV. Thanks for reading my story, it means a lot to me. Anyways, I DON’T OWN TWILIGHT OR THE CHRONICLES OF NARNIA !

Thanks xx

Previous:

Edward: ‘Now tell me your story..’

“A disclaimer,” Saxo said, when it was safe to remove their hands. “Better late than never I suppose.”

‘I..I’m Isabella Swan. Swan, I mean, Bella for short. I’m from England and I’m 15. I was at the home from Professor Cedric, when I saw the wardrobe he had been talking about. I was curious and took a look. And now I’m here. I was send to the Prof because my parents couldn’t take care of me. I don’t know where I belong, I’ve never been someone who fitted somewhere. I don’t know why I’m here, Cedric told me I shouldn’t use the wardrobe! But I was curious and..and..and yes. I hope I’m now where I belong. Although it looks a bit weird here. And Narnia, I’ve never heard about that before.. Is it some kind of magical land?’

The agents just stared for a moment.

Then the RMC said briskly: “Right. Charges. We already have a charge for redundancy, which would make it redundant to charge for repeating her back story. Charge for having a extremely underwhelmed reaction to being in another world and for talking about her feelings with a complete stranger. Also charge for having vampires who don’t even drink blood, when that is their single most important defining characteristic. Even Twilight didn’t completely take that away from them.”

In the fic, Edward was now elaborating on his backstory.

‘It was a cold night in Villa Phoenix, in the middle of a valley in England. Alice, Emmett and me were playing in my dad’s work office. He told us not to use the wardrobe, but we were curious. So we got in the wardrobe and entered the Unknow Land.

“Where all Sues hail from,” Saxo said.

We had to hide us, and had to fight everyday for our lives.

“I imagine them taking turns to hide each other in small jars on the top shelves,” Mittens said.

One day, Emmett met the Ice Queen , Rosalie. At first she looked kind, and Emmett fell in love with her. They married soon after that. Rosalie was angry with me and Alice because we didn’t like their marriage. She turned us into vampires.

“Proving them right, then,” James said.

Since that day, the beautiful land of Aslan, king and protector of Narnia (may he live forever) ,

“Presumably he is immortal, so I doubt he needs your good wishes,” the RMC said, crossing its arms over its chest. It was cold up here, fauns apparently did not use sweaters and it hoped that this scene wouldn’t take much longer.

“Hey, we should do an MST some time,” Mittens said. “This is starting to sound like one.”

That day, the Ice Queen promised that she’ll turn every human who comes here into a tree.

“Since Bella is human,” Saxo said, “she should just make like a tree and leave.”

The three other agents groaned.

“Well, I suppose there’s no MSTs without really bad jokes,” the RMC said.

Everyone lived happy together. The Animals could talk and the dwarfs walked in the woods, singing every song they knew.

“Somehow, I just don’t see the Narnian dwarves doing the whole Snow White ‘Heigh-ho, Heigh-ho’ thing,” Mittens said.

The fauns had a campfire every Tuesday night.

This was followed by complete silence on the agents’ part, since this was simply too random for them to think of anything to say.

We had 2 kings and two queens, the sons of Adam and the daughters of Eva. They were called Peter, Edmund, Susan and Lucy. They died a few years ago. Than the Ice Queen saw her chance and attacked Narnia again. Since then, we all are doomed to have a sad life.

“They died, did they? Can’t even get that detail right,” the RMC muttered.

“’Doomed to have a sad life’,” Saxo repeated, through chattering teeth. “The PPC should use that phrase in their next recruitment campaign.” He and James were also starting to look like they were freezing badly, but they were eyeing each other and both of them refused to rub their chests or in any other way acknowledge the cold.

But Aslan told us the day that Queen Rosalie turned the world into ice, that there would come a young girl, who would become the wife of a Doomed Person.

“That means I get to sing the Doom Song,” Mitten said enthusiastically. “Doom doom doom doomy doom doom!”

I was absolutely sure that she was the girl. I felt some weird connection with here, so I think I’m the doomed person , like Aslan called him.

“That’s a rather circular logic,” James said. “It would seem that he thinks he is the doomed person because he feels something for her, but that is also the only reason why he thinks she is the girl.”

“You’re right,” Mittens said. “Charge for circular logic.”

‘Listen Bella, I know you are the girl. And I know that I’m the doomed person. I know it sounds weird, but we have to marry soon. Only together we will be strong enough to lead a war and to save Narnia.’

“He got awfully sure in a very short time,” Saxo commented.

“I have to admit, as pick-up-lines go, that one is rather novel,” the RMC said.

‘I’m almost positive that Aslan’ll turn you into a Mythical Creature, so that you’ll be strong enough.

“Mittens,” the RMC said, its eye twitching, “could we have some more Bleeprin, please?”

In the fic, Bella suddenly grew wings.

She had wings growing on her back, and became more beautiful than everything I’ve ever seen. She was an elf, just like my sister. But you could see she was very powerful. The fire in her eyes was like nothing I had ever seen before.

‘What the heck?’

‘You’re an elf. Told you Aslan would change you into something else. Now all we have to do is marrying, and I’m sorry about that. I know it sounds weird, because you don’t even know me.’ I told her shy.

“I think,” Mittens said slowly, “we are long overdue for a reading.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” James said and fumbled with the CAD. He pointed it at Bella.

[Bella Swan. Canon/uncanon/canon/Sue/Canon/Uncanon/Sue]

The others looked over his shoulder to see the read-out.

“I think,” the RMC said, “she might be the real Bella Swan. The CAD is not designed to get readings on Canon Sues and furthermore she is a stranger to this continuum.” It checked the Fictionary. “Of course, suddenly finding herself in the middle of a supernatural war and being turned into a sparkly creature is very much in character for her. There’s just rather more glitter and bad storytelling heaped on top of her.”

James nodded, although he did not look entirely convinced and pointed the CAD at Edward. There was a very loud and very shrill BEEEEEEEEEP!! Mittens yanked it out of his hands and turned it off.

“You have to check that it’s muted,” he said, as he gave it back to James.

“I did!” James objected.

“You have to check every time,” Mittens said. “This means, between uses as well.”

James growled at Saxo, who was grinning widely, then looked at the display.

[Edward Masen/Cullen/Masen. ??? Canon/uncanon/canon/Stu/Canon/Uncanon/Stu. Twilight? Ohgodnottwilight!]

“It’s the same,” he said. “Does that mean that he is the real Edward as well?”

“It would seem so,” the RMC said. “But we’ll have to bring them to the Twilight continuum and get a new reading on them there, to be absolutely sure.”

We were training hard, but still not hard enough. My sister helped us with finding other creatures, but all we had by now were 12 werewolves, 13 vampires, 25 dwarfs, 3 elves (including Bella and Alice) , 5 ice bears and 2 wildcats.

“I thought he said that both he and Alice were vampires,” James said. “And who are the other vampires?”

“Don’t know, but we’ll have to think of what to do with them,” the RMC said. “There are no vampires in Narnia. Nor Elves for that matter not that, that ever stopped a fanficcer who wanted to include them. Charge for that and for leaving out most of the mythological creatures who actually did fight on Aslan’s side the last time, such as dragons and unicorns.”

“Hey,” James said, “is that an autho…”

Thank you for reading!

I don’t know yet how I will describe the fight. If you have suggestions, let me know it!

And I’m sorry for my horrible grammar!

Xxx Jill

CLICK THE GREEN BUTTON

Here’s the next chapter!

Don’t forget to review

The songs for this chapter are:

-A Change in me, Beauty and the beast

-The battle (instrumental), The chronicles of Narnia

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Twilight or The Chronicles Of Narnia.

Jill.

“Charge for apologizing for her horrible grammar, rather than actually doing something about it,” the RMC said.

QUEEN ROSALIE POV

‘Dwarf 223! Get your little ass over here!’ I screamed. It was Monday, 25th of Jinfire(AN: That’s one of the months of Narnia, it’s the same as June)

The dummy flew through the air and Mittens, who was wearing the backpack, was yanked sideways. Then the string holding the dummy broke and it stood on the floor and started yelling after a dwarf.
“I think we have our Sue,” James said.
“No kidding, Sherlock,” Mittens said. He shot a nervous look downwards. The complete and utter lack of setting meant that they were all standing on a floor so generic and undefined, that it was rather foggy and not nearly solid enough to support them. They were slowly sinking into it and Mittens doubted that there was anything underneath.
“Charge for making up the names of months in Narnia,” the RMC said. “Then make an additional charge for keeping the names of the days of the week. And Mittens, some more Bleeprin if you would be so kind.”

In the fic, the dwarf gave a brief recap of what they had already seen.

I was shocked.

‘So the girl finally arrived?’

‘Yes Mrs Rosalie, she did.’

Saxo groaned. “I have no words for how stupid this is.”

“This is how she chooses to replace the White Witch?” the RMC said. “A screaming … harpy, with a foul mouth and nothing resembling dignity or cleverness? Charge for it!”

‘What was the Vampire’s name?’ I wondered who it was, there weren’t too many outta here..

‘I think it was Edward Masen, Mrs Rosalie.’ I screamed. Emmett’s brother. I couldn’t kill him, Emmett won’t be happy about that. Did I have another choice?

No.

Let’s go kill some Vampires, and their stupid little friends.

The RMC frowned and checked the Fictionary once again. “This seems off, and not just because she apparently asked a question and then screamed the answer herself. According to this, Rosalie is extremely self-centered, but loyal to family and friends. She shouldn’t be so quick to kill Emmett’s brother. Nor to have turned them into vampires to begin with. James, would you get a reading on her?”

James pointed the CAD at the Ice Queen and pressed the button. For a few moments nothing happened. Then the CAD started vibrating.

“I think you should drop it,” Mittens began, but then there was a small ‘bing’ and the screen lit up with a reading.

[Mrs Rosalie aka. The Ice Queen. Species undetermined. Uncanon. Sue. Kill it! Killitwithfire!]

“And here I was, almost thinking that we wouldn’t get to kill anything,” Saxo said with a gleeful smirk.

“Charge for being a Sue and for bashing Rosalie as well as the White Witch,” the RMC said.

BELLA POV

It was a long night on Gindra (same as July here) the 25th.

The RMC glared at her. “I wish she would stop making up names of months,” it said, annoyed.
Mittens just sighed in relief. The words mentioned Bella sitting on a rock, which had been enough to conjure up a mountainside as a setting.

Ever since I was young , I wrote music. I had an amazing voice, they always told me. I decided to write a song (A/N: Now listen to A change in me- Beauty and the Beast)

There’s been a change in me
A kind of moving on
Though what I used to be
I still depend on

As the whole song played out, Mittens banged his head against a rock. When the singing stopped, he swallowed a handful of Bleeprin and said: “Charge for using a whole copyrighted song. I believe that it is against the rules of the Pit, but it’s also plain annoying.”

“Also charge for Sue-singing,” the RMC said, consulting the Fictionary. “There’s nothing about Bella Swan having an amazing voice or writing music.”

There was a minor shift in time and space, even though there was no reason to.

(In the evening, on the campfire)

Bella and Edward were now sitting in the middle of the fire. Their clothes were burning away, but neither seemed to notice.
The agents stared at them, dumbstruck, for a moment, before the RMC found its voice. “Charge for this. And Mittens, another round of Bleeprin, if you please.”

It was to give Narnia his original proud and beauty back, to give all of the habitants a perfect, long and happy life. I knew it was going to be hard, but I was sure that we could do it. After all , how strong could that little Ice Queen be?

Mittens shuddered. “I have a hard time believing that anyone, who could think like that, is a canon character.”

“Well, she is Suefied,” the RMC said, “but she’s also a Sue to begin with. This is her good and caring traits being warped to the extreme.”

And I promise that if we win the fight, we will go and rebuild Cair Paraval, and have the most perfect life you want.

Mittens pointed eagerly. “Oh! Mini! Mini-something! Mini-Dragon?”

“A mini-Dragon, yes,” the RMC said. “It must be Paraval.”

Mittens picked the mini up and placed it in the backpack.

Edward and Bella kissed and then Aslan showed up.

‘That’s great news. And kids, the energy you both felt trough your body, was the energy of love. It’s the most powerful thing.

“I think I know what this is,” the RMC said, “but get a reading just to be sure.”

James checked that the CAD was muted, then pointed it at the great lion.

[Tashlan. Character replacement. Terminate with extreme prejudice.]

The RMC grimaced at this. “Being right is much less fun than it ought to be.”

‘You.. You brought soldiers for us?’ I asked.

‘Indeed, Bella. I brought 25 wildcats, 12 ice bears, 45 dwarfs, 123 centaurs , 256 elves, 56 fauns, 5 giants and a lot of horses. I’ve trained them ,too.

“What are we supposed to do with 256 non-canonical Elves?” Saxo asked.

“Winged Elves,” the RMC corrected, rubbing its forehead. “Which means that we can’t just send them to Generic Fantasy Land or WOW or any other place I can think of. We’ll have to deal with them later. Anyway, I’ve checked the Words and Tashlan doesn’t show up again, so we’ll take care of him now. Mittens, any ideas as to how we kill him?”

“I have one,” Mittens said. “I’ll use the Remote Activator.”

“Very well,” the RMC said. “Saxo, do you know which charges are for Tashlan?”

“Yes. There’s only a few, since we pin the rest on Rosalie.”

“Exactly. I think you should read the charges.”

Saxo smirked. “Watch and learn, Fox,” he said and strode towards the great lion.

“Tashlan, as agents of the PPC …” The huge lion roared and jumped him. He just had time to throw himself flat on the ground.

“Is this something I should learn?” James yelled in a innocent tone. “Should I be taking notes? Will there be a test?”

“Stop kidding around,” Mittens said, his finger poised over the button on the RA, “and just read the charges.”

Saxo was getting up and didn’t seem to be paying attention. His gaze was fixed on the lion and he drew his sword. The lion growled and started to circle him, looking for an opening. Saxo ventured a glance in the notebook, he still held in his left hand, and said: “You are charged with being a character replacement, with turning Bella into an Elf and with bringing 256 non-canonical Elves into this fic.” The lion roared and positioned itself to jump once more. “For this, you are sentenced to die!” Saxo yelled.

The lion jumped at him, but Mittens pressed the button on the RA and the roar turned into something like a bellow of surprise as it soared through a portal. “I believe that was my cue,” Mittens said.

“Weren’t the timing all off with that joke?” Saxo asked, sheathing his sword.

Mittens shrugged. “If you prefer, next time I can snark first and get rid of the lion afterwards.”

“Let’s go check that it doesn’t get away,” the RMC said.
On the other side of the portal, a battle between two white lions were raging. But while the lions were the same size and build, this was in no way an even fight. In fact, if Mittens should compare it to anything, he would say it was like watching a Smurf being thrown before a tiger.

With a last howl which was cut short, one of the lions feel to the ground, dead. The other turned to the agents.

“The Protectors,” it said, its voice deep and powerful, but with an undertone of mirth.

Mittens looked down at his feet, or in this case, hooves. “I … I hope you’re not angry I dumped that other lion on you,” he said. “It was kind of going to eat Saxo and …” He scraped the ground with his hooves.

“I am always pleased to meet your kind, even if the reasons for your visits are regrettable,” Aslan replied. “And I do not mind helping you with the challenges you cannot face on your own.” The mirth became even more pronounced. “Now, you should take care of the so-called Ice Queen. Whatever the differences between me and the White Witch, I do not like to see her impersonated by something like that.”

Mittens looked relived. “Will do, “ he said and started fiddling with the RA again. The agents all bowed before Aslan and went though the portal, which deposited them back where they had left the story.

“Author’s note coming up,” James warned and they covered their ears.

So, that was chapter three! It’s way better if you listen to the songs 😀

I want at least 3 reviews before I update again, they make me happy!

Click the green button !

Xx

Jill.

“Is holding your own story hostage for reviews a char…” Saxo began, but was interrupted by another author’s note in the beginning of the next chapter.

4. Authors NoteI’m Sorry

Hey Guys!

I’m so sorry I didn’t update for what seems a thousand years!

And I have to disappoint you , I’m not going to update for the next 2 or 3 weeks..

That’s because my exams are starting next week, and so I’m really busy with studying..

I hate it.

And than again, I’m so so so so sooooooooooooo sorry !

I promise that my next chapter is going to be the best.. I hope.

Sorry Again.

Jill.

“She had a whole chapter consisting of an author’s note, explaining why she hadn’t updated?” James began. “How is that even …”

But suddenly there was another chapter and yet another author’s note bellowed over them.

5. An TwilightNight

First off all, guys, I’m so sorry to tell you this, but I’m a little done with this story. I will continue this, and I already know how. You will get to choose between a good ending and a sad ending. I’m writing another story now, Alice In Wonderland. Read it ,please. I’m sorry, but I’m not going to update this story for a while. Please forgive me!

Jill

6: The Plan

Here’s the new chapter,

But I need more reviews to motivate me, because I’m kinda tired of this story..

So Review please , it would make me happy.

Jill

“I think there’s a real chapter now,” Mittens said, carefully lowering his hands and looking at Edward who was giving orders to the army.

“Unbelievable,” the RMC said. “The stupid fic has two chapters consisting of nothing but author’s notes, begging for reviews and bad excuses. And she is going after Alice in Wonderland next.” It nodded its thanks as it took the Bleeprin Mittens handed it. “Charge for the last two chapters.” It got a distant look as it scanned the text ahead of them. “This is the last chapter. We just need to find a good moment and then I think we can wrap this up.”

“How do with kill her?” Mittens asked.

“I say we follow the CAD’s suggestion and use fire,” the RMC said.

“That was an actual suggestion? I thought it was just a figure of speech.”

“Speaking of speech, Edward is giving one,” Saxo said.

But if we’re in the fight, you are going to fight not for yourself, but for Narnia. Choose someone of your own length, and don’t think we’re better than them, because we’re not. Knowing Queen Rosalie, she has made the best army. Don’t forget that we do this for your wives or husbands. If we win this fight, we’re going to be happy and die happy when we’re old and gray. If we loose, than there’s a big chance that we all are going to be a slave of Queen Rosalie. Do we want that?’ Edward asked.

‘No! We Don’t want to be slaves of stupid Queen Rosalie!’ They all screamed.

“Yeah, that’s right up the with ‘There may come a day, where the courage of man fails’,” the RMC said acidly.

“Is there a volcano or something in Narnia we can dump her in?” Mittens asked. “Otherwise I’m not sure how we are going to get fire enough to …” He was interrupted by the sound of something scratching on the inside of his backpack. Mittens opened it and Paraval peeked out, the blew a rather impressive flame, almost as long as the small dragon itself.

“It wants to help,” James said. “Good mini-Dragon.”

Mittens hesitated for a moment, but the RMC nodded its approval, so he started giving Paraval instructions, at least half of which were some variation of ‘be careful and don’t get hurt’. He then placed the mini-Dragon on his shoulder.

In the fic Rosalie showed up with her army and Emmett. Edward told Emmett that Rosalie didn’t love him and had only married him to get revenge on Edward and Alice. For some reason Emmett believed him at once and started yelling at Rosalie, calling her the worst names in the book. Rosalie tried to persuade Emmett back, but then Alice and Bella changed.

I growled and felt Bella and Alice changing next to me. Suddenly, they were in the air with their big, beautiful wings spread out wide. Bella’s wings were a passionate red colour with some blue accents, while Alice’s were red and pink accents. They both looked beautiful.

“Okay,” the RMC said. “Text says he is distracted by this. Everyone else probably is as well. I say we take care of Rosalie now.”

Mittens nodded briefly, while pressing buttons on the RA. A portal opened underneath Rosalie and she fell through. The agents quickly jumped in after her.

The Ice Queen was getting up from the ground, looking furious. “Who are you?” she demanded. “Are you some more of the stupid little friends of the vampires?”

“No,” Mittens said. “We are something much worse. Saxo, charge list please.”

Eyeing the Ice Queen wearily, Saxo opened the notebook and started reading. The Ice Queen however, made no move to attack, but simply glared at him, perhaps waiting for some sort of explanation.

“Rosalie aka. the Ice Queen, with the power vested in us as PPC-agents, we charge you with the following crimes: Getting the name of the Professor utterly wrong; multiple cases of redundancy; ignoring and messing with the canons of both Twilight and Narnia; ignoring common sense; giving Bella a stupid back story, multiple fathers and a nonsensical reaction to danger; severe cruelty towards the English language, especially the common comma; having no sense of timing; making Edward squat in Mr. Tumnus’ home; calling yourself the Ice Queen; making Bella be underwhelmed at being in Narnia and talk about her feelings with a complete stranger; having vampires who don’t drink blood; making Edward employ circular logic; having Elves and vampires in Narnia, while at the same time ignoring most of the other interesting creatures who should have been there; apologising for your horrible grammar rather than fixing it; inventing new names of months, but keeping the names of the days; copying a whole song; placing two characters in the middle of a fire; having two chapters consisting of author’s notes and excuses; calling yourself the Ice Queen; being an extremely poor replacement for Jadis, bashing Rosalie and being a Mary Sue. Your punishment is death.”

“What nonsense is this?” Rosalie demanded. Then she screamed. Mittens had sneaked up behind her and planted his knives in her back.

“Now!” he yelled and as Rosalie whirled around to face him, Paraval swooped in and breathed flames right in her face. She stood for a moment, then she collapsed in a burning heap.

“Swooping is not always bad,” the RMC commented sagely, as Paraval flew back and landed on the arm of Mittens, who called him a good mini-Dragon and made promises about rather large amounts of bacon.

“How come she was so easy to charge?” Saxo asked. “Tashlan attacked me, but she just stood there.”

“Tashlan is in the rare position of being a canon character-replacement,” the RMC replied. “As such he has faced PPC-agents before and know what we are. Anyway, we should get the neuralyzing over with and clean up the mess left behind.”

However, when they returned to the battlefield, most of the armies were missing. It seemed that all the non-canonical beings had simply gone, now that there was nothing keeping them in the story. The RMC took out the Neuralyzer.

“Look here, please,” it said and everyone turned towards it. The agents closed their eyes as it pressed the button. “Okay, everyone who is not a vampire or an Elf, you don’t know what either of those things are. The White Witch was defeated years ago and this is not a permanent winter, but an perfectly ordinary one. You’ve all had a rather confusing daydream and now you will all go home and forget about it.”

Mittens opened a portal back to the Twilight canon and they went through it, dragging the confused-looking Bella, Edward, Alice and Emmett with them. James got new readings on them, which confirmed them as the real characters.

“Right,” the RMC said. “Bella, you have never met Edward and won’t for some years to come. You have never been turned into an Elf,” it looked with mild distaste at the sparkly wings on her back, “or a fairy.” The wings faded away. “Also, you have never lived in England because your parents couldn’t take care of you and you do not have multiple fathers. You live in Phoenix, Arizona. Now walk through here, please.” It gestured towards the portal and Bella walked through.

After modifying the memories of the rest of the characters and sending them on their ways, they could finally go back to RC#170.

Saxo lowered himself into one of the beanbags. “That was awful,” he groaned. James did the same and nodded in agreement. Then they both lifted their heads and looked at each other for a moment.

Neither Mittens nor the RMC dared to breath, fearful of interrupting. Then Saxo got up and James abruptly turned his back to him.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Saxo said. “I feel dirty.” He went to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. A moment later he opened the door. “The drain is still completely clogged with hair. There’s water all over the floor!”

James growled an insult in return and drew his baton.

Mittens and the RMC sighed. Paraval watched in mild puzzlement from his new place on top of the bookshelf, where he was happily tearing into a large piece of bacon.

The there was a loud ‘BEEEEEEEEPPPPP!!’

Mittens got up. “Seems everyone will have to wait with the showers.”

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Through Anothers Eyes aka. Enter the Newbies

Author’s notes: This mission was started in early December in very good time for Christmas. Then real life happened. (Yes, acquiring Skyrim totally counts as ‘real life happened’. Now hush.)
It is a bit long … Hey, wait! Come back! It’s not that long. Really, the only reason I mention it, is because I wanted to do some short missions to get the average length down. But this fic had a lot more things wrong with it, than I first thought, and I couldn’t just ignore all of them.
In the mission, I have some limitations on what can and cannot be done. These are not necessarily correct, but rather, they reflect what my agents think they know. For example, it is quite possibly that the Cad has a ‘home in on fellow agents’ button, but if that is the case, my agents haven’t found it.
The CAD MK-48 is a nod to the CAD MK-47 found in Aster Corbett’s Dragon Age mission.
The name Saxo Cruore is a Google translation from English to Latin of the bit’s former last name. I found the translation extremely dubious and haven’t been able to verify it using any kind of dictionary. However, the name Saxo have a special meaning for Danes, so I decided to keep it.
<Serious Business> Trigger warning: The sporked fic deals with severe child abuse and does so badly. It is rated T.</Serious Business>
Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. The movie version belongs to Peter Jackson. The PPC was created by Jay and Acacia; I’m only playing in it. The Fellowship Mantra belongs to Elrond, but was brought to us by Miss Sandman. Through Anothers Eyes belongs to INHM, who can keep it. Mittens, the Radioactive Moss Creature, James Vulpes and Saxo Cruore are mine.
————————————————————————————————————————-
RC #170 was the very image of holiday cheer, as filtered through the PPC HQ. The agents had been on a rare excursion to their home continuum’s version of the real word, where they had discovered, that their meagre salaries could buy them not only presents, but also a not insignificant amount of Christmas stuff.
Mittens had finished decorating the tree and was now for the umpteenth time taking an ornament from Aniseed, who kept pulling them down and batting them around. Under the tree were packages from various friends; the biggest one was shaped like a tea-pot and had a tag reading ‘To Mittens from Joss and Izumi’. In the background, the Cambridge Singers’ Angels’ Carol was playing and the young devil was tunelessly humming along, not really paying attention to the lyrics and therefore oblivious to the irony.
The console beeped, but it was a rather subdued sound and not the shrill BEEEEP! of a new mission. Mittens hung the paper star back on the tree and went to look.
“It’s a message,” he said.
The RMC was keeping an eye on the chestnuts roasting on an open fire, which was provided by the mini-Balrog, Riverdendell. “What does it say?” it asked, selected another letter from a small pile and started chewing on it. There had been some kind of attack on the PPC a little while ago; the attacker had spewed random letters and numbers everywhere and they had found their way to the RMC.
“’Since you were so eager to show the new recruits the ropes, you can continue to do so.’ Signed, the Marquis de Sod.”
The RMC started taking the chestnuts off the mini-Balrog. “I fuppofe it waf to be efpected that …”
It was interrupted by a knock on the door which Mittens went to answer. Outside stood the Death Eater the agents had recruited.
“Um. Hello, Fi…” Mittens began, but was interrupted when the former badfic-bit raised a hand.
“That,” he said, “is no longer my name. I am now called Saxo Cruore.”
“Okay,” Mittens said. “Why don’t you come on in. It seems that we are supposed to train you or something.”
Saxo stepped inside and let his gaze glide over the interior of the Response Centre which, although neat and tidy and festively decked, was rather cramped. The RC had grown in size a couple of times to accommodate the ridiculous amount of minis the agents had collected, but it had refused to budge an inch to give room to their newly acquired weapons collection. His face got a look of disapproval. “I was merely told to go here and … Merlin! What is that thing!?” He looked at the RMC, shocked.
The next thing he knew, he was flat against the wall, not quite sure whether he had actually passed though any space in between, and Mittens had his hands around his throat.
“Listen and listen carefully,” Mittens said. “You’re a new agent so I’m going to give you a pass, but if I ever and I mean ever,” to emphasise his point, he lifted Saxo a bit, so that he had to stand on his toes, then lowered him again, “hear you utter a single word that is, no, that could in any way be interpreted as disrespectful to my esteemed colleague, I am going to kill you. Do you understand?” His voice sounded oddly flat in contrast to the words. He wasn’t threatening as much as he was simply pointing out the consequences of a certain action.
Saxo managed a nod and Mittens let him go.
“And now,” he said, sounding almost cheerful, “I would like to introduce you to the Radioactive Moss Creature, my partner.”
Saxo tried to say something, but managed only a half choked sound.
There was another knock on the door and Mittens once again went to open it. Outside stood an anthropomorphic fox and, next to it, a sheepdog. Mittens looked surprised for a moment, but then he smiled. “James Vulpes.” He looked at the dog. “And Cabal.”
“Greetings,” the fox said in his squeaky voice and gave a flourishing bow. “I have been sent here by my new lieges. I was told, I should meet my new brother in arms here.”
There was a new half-choked sound from Saxo and then he said: “I’m being teamed up with a fox?”
James looked at him, narrowed his eyes and gave a low threatening growl. Mittens crossed his arms, but didn’t move otherwise. If Saxo and James were meant to be partners, the fox needed to be able to handle this himself.
The RMC looked from one new agent to the other. “Well,” it said, “now that you’re both here, why don’t you come inside, so you can get acquainted. We have chestnuts and I’m sure Mittens will be happy to make some tea and …”
BEEEEEEEP!!!
James and Saxo both covered their ears with their hands. Cabal laid down and tried to do the same with its paws. Mittens moved over to the console and hit the button.
“It’s a mission,” he explained. “I guess we’re supposed to take you with us.”
“A quest!” James said. “Finally!”
Mittens read the Intelligence Report and frowned. “It’s a Tenth Walker,” he said.
“Huh,” the RMC said. “I’m actually a bit surprised we’re getting it. There are so many other agents more versed in that canon. Then again, it is flooded with badfic and they need all the agents they can get.”
“According to this, the Sue is eight years old.”
“Eight years?” the RMC repeated. “That has be a typo; they must have meant eighteen.”
“I guess.” Mittens shrugged and turned towards the two newbies, who were eyeing each other with what he hoped was only disdain, but which was probably open hostility. “Do you know The Lord of the Rings?” he asked.
“I have begun reading the books by the honourable Yarr Tolkien, but I regret to say, I have not yet made it all the way through,” James replied.
Mittens blinked. “Just so you know it, it’s pronounced ‘J. R. R.’,” he said. “It’s his initials.”
“Oh, I did think it was an odd name.”
Saxo looked like he was about to say something, but Mittens shot him a warning glance, so he just smirked instead.
“And you,” Mittens asked. “Do you know the books?”
“No. They gave me them, but I only read the first two chapters and then I had to stop. The books are awfully dull, the magic makes no sense and the wizard is completely devoid of dignity; the way he uses his powers as entertainment for Muggles.”
“Um, fair enough, I guess. You’re entitled to your opinion, though I wouldn’t be too vocal about it.”
“How about training? Have you received any?” the RMC asked.
The new agents both looked at it blankly.
“Well,” James said, finally, “I received a leather bound book detailing the quests of two agents named Jay and Acacia.”
Saxo nodded at this.
“So, no training, but at least you know what we’re supposed to be doing,” the RMC said. “Better get to it then. Mittens, would you get weapons for them? I suggest we go as Uruk-hai.”
“Of course. Um, can I bring the crossbow?”
“They are used in the movie, but it’s debatable whether crossbows are really canon in Lord of the Rings. Better not take it.”
Mittens looked at the crossbow, slightly disappointed. It was sitting on a shelf all ready, the wood shining from oil, but, outside of the mission he picked it up in, he had not had a chance to use it. He turned to the weapons collection. “What are your experience with weapons?” he asked.
“I have my trusty baton,” James replied and waved it in the air.
“You’ll be much bigger as an Uruk-hai,” Mittens said. He looked over the collection. “Ah, here.” He picked a club and handed it to James. It was almost as big as the small fox-person. “You’ll grow into it,” he said.
Saxo smirked again. Mittens turned towards him. “And you?” he asked.
“I’ll use my magic.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” the RMC said. “There’s enough Potterverse magic in Middle-earth from brainless crossovers, without us adding to it. Choose a weapon.”
Grumbling, Saxo asked for a sword and Mittens picked out a simple broadsword. As for himself he went with his two trusty knifes and the RMC had a sword as well.
“Now, for this first mission,” the RMC said, “you will simply observe me and my partner. Although I suppose that you, James, can write the charge list.” Mittens handed a standard issue pen and a notebook to the fox. The RMC continued: “And now, Mittens, if you would set the disguises and the portal, please.”
Mittens hoisted the backpack and bent over the console. A moment later the portal appeared and he and the RMC jumped through it, followed by their new trainees. The portal closed behind them and back in RC# 170, Cabal decided that now would be a good time for a nap and curled up on Mittens’ beanbag.

They were in prefic darkness and the Author’s Note boomed.

I don’t own ANYTHING in this story. NOTHING. NADA. ZIP. Okay? I don’t even own Laurie. I got her and her back round story from Willo Davis Roberts. Therefore, I still own nothing. Enjoy.

“Who?” Mittens asked, when it was safe to remove one’s hands from one’s ears.
“I have no idea,” the RMC replied. “We could be dealing with a crossover, but the Intelligence Report didn’t mention anything like that.”
Mittens bit his lip, which turned out to be a bad idea, seeing as he now had much sharper teeth than he was used to. If this mission was going to get weird and complicated, he would much have preferred to not have the newbies with them; which was probably Upstairs’ plan. 

The darkness lifted and the four agents found themselves in a kitchen. They heard loud voices coming from another room and carefully peeked through the door. In a nondescript hallway a woman was hitting a puppy with a broomstick and a little girl was screaming at her to stop. There was also a small boy; Tim, according to the words.
“So that is the Sue?” James whispered.
“I think so. It would also seem, that she really is only eight years old,” the RMC whispered back.

The woman’s name was Annabelle, and she was Laurie’s mother. Laurie never called Annabelle “mother” but never called her “Annabelle” either. She had picked up the habit of calling Annabelle “Annabelle” when Annabelle had married her second husband. His kids, Laurie’s step brother and sister, had called her “Annabelle”, so Laurie thought of her as “Annabelle”.

Mittens groaned. “Don’t say it’s one of those fics.”

Annabelle was abusive. It was a thing had Laurie had to deal with since she was three years old, when her father abandoned her and Annabelle. That’s when Annabelle had started to lose it. But then again, who wouldn’t?

“Who wouldn’t?” the RMC growled. It wasn’t trying to growl, but being an Uruk-hai kind of made it come naturally. It continued in a more normal tone of voice. “James, write a charge for slandering single parents by claiming that this is typical behaviour. Even if it’s from the girls perspective, she ought to know that this is not normal.”
“Certainly,” James answered, then started fumbling with the notebook. Suddenly having hands this size wasn’t doing anything good for his coordination. Saxo sniggered and James glowered at him, but the RMC placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Just write the charge,” it said, then turned to Mittens. “Get a reading on these people, please.”
Mittens nodded and took the CAD from the backpack. Then, after checking that it was muted, he pointed it at Laurie. After a moment he said: “Sue. Definitely.”
“And the other two?” the RMC asked.
“Non-canon bits.”
“So we’re not dealing with a cross-over. Good, since we don’t know the other book. Make a charge for copying a back story.”

In the fic, Laurie now shielded the puppy with her own body. Her mother dropped the broom, grabbed an iron fire poker instead and proceeded to beat Laurie with it.
“Something occurred to me,” James said. “Her name is Laurie and she’s eight years old. Do you think …”
The agents looked at each other, expressions of horror slowly creeping over their faces, even Saxo’s, as they realized what this could mean.
“In that case,” the RMC said, “we charge and kill her immediately. The slightest hint of romance and we charge her with that and with whatever are the most aggravating points on the charge list and then we kill her.”
“What if we don’t have enough for a charge list?” Saxo argued. “Like if she decides to romance Frodo before she even joins the Fellowship?”
“Sam will kill her if she tries anything,” Mittens deadpanned.
The two newbies looked puzzled, but the RMC smiled grimly – possibly the only way for a Uruk-hai to smile – for a moment, before it said: “We’ll charge with conspiring to do further crimes.” It glanced at the words. “Anyway, the Sue is unconscious and somehow fading into Middle-earth. Time to neuralyze the two bits. Mittens, grab the woman. Saxo, she has locked Tim in a closet; get him out of there.” 

The puppy had run out of the house and Annabelle was going to run after it, but Mittens grabbed her shoulder. At least, that was what he was trying to do, but his coordination was still not what it usually was, so instead he hit her on the side of the head and knocked her into the wall. Saxo was fumbling with the lock on the closet. The RMC, who was setting the neuralyzer, was the one doing best as an Uruk-hai; it had to adjust to walking on two legs and having hands every time it went into a mission and being this big and having hands the size of hams was really not much weirder.
Annabelle started screaming as Mittens reached down and pulled her to her feet. In contrast, Tim, who had been yelling and kicking inside the closet, fell silent as Saxo opened the door. The two bits were dragged over to the RMC. The agents closed their eyes as it pressed the button on the neuralyzer. Annabelle fell silent and the two humans stared at the RMC with vacant expressions.
“Annabelle,” the RMC said, “you do not have a daughter named Laurie. You are not a violent person and you would never hit a child.”
Annabelle nodded. Now that the expression of rage had gone from her face, she actually looked very kind.
The RMC turned to the boy. “Tim, you do not have a stepsister named Laurie and your stepmother is not violent. Now, both of you, there’s a scared and possibly hurt puppy outside. Since you both love dogs, you will find it, take care of it and give it a forever home here.”
Annabelle smiled. “Poor little dog,” she mumbled. Then she and Tim turned and went outside.
“Now,” the RMC said, “we have to catch up with the Laurie. Mittens, will you get the Remote Activator?”
“I’m trying,” Mittens said. “It seems to have gravitated to the bottom of the backpack.” There was a rather loud meow. “Ohai, Aniseed,” Mittens said, “have you seen the …” He stiffened. “Aniseed?!”
The RMC rubbed its forehead. “It must have stowed away in the backpack. Not a problem. We’ll just send it back.”
Mittens had his whole arm down the backpack, ignoring the annoyed sounds from Aniseed. “Here it is.” He pulled out the RA.
“Now open a portal back to …” the RMC began, but then the agents all froze as they heard a voice right outside saying: “I’ll get the leftover meatloaf from the fridge. I bet it’ll like that.”
There wasn’t time to send Aniseed back first.
“Middle-earth, now,” it said and Mittens set the RA. The portal opened, the agents all jumped through and it closed behind them, just as Tim entered the house again.

The portal led to a road running through a forest. A bit further down the road, two Hobbits were walking.
“Sam and Frodo,” the RMC said. It looked at the words. “They’re just about to meet Laurie. And the prose has gotten tolerable. Apparently it was just that one sentence that was mangled.”
“So now we send Aniseed back,” Mittens said, reached inside the backpack and took out the tulip cat. The following seemed to happen in blur. Aniseed caught sight of the two Hobbits and hissed loudly. What was really strange was that she also turned from her normal orange colour to a dark red, almost indistinguishable from black. Apparently, her origin as a CAD could not be denied in the presence of OOC Hobbits. She wormed her way out of Mittens’ grip and ran off, into the forest.
The RMC muttered something under its breath. From the tone of voice, Mittens guessed that it was probably swearing, but the only word he could make out was ‘eggplant’. He decided to not ask it to repeat it.
The RMC turned towards him. “You’ll have to go after her,” it said. “Send her back and then use the RA to rejoin us. Just use the ‘home in on Sue’ function.”
“Okay. How do I do it, if you’ve already executed the Sue by then?”
“Then you locate us through the Words …” The RMC’s voice trailed off as realisation dawned on it. It wasn’t that Mittens, like some agents, was unable to see the Words at all. When he squinted and cocked his head, he could see the words in front of him well enough to determine what had made a mini spawn or which awkward phrasing had turned someone into a gnome. But there was no way he would be able to skim the huge amount of text needed to find them. The RMC was about to say, that they would hold off executing the Sue until he got there, but that didn’t really seem an option. They had to kill the Sue fast if she tried anything. Having to sit through an romance-scene with an eight-year-old was the kind of thing that could crack the sanities of the two newbies.
It could see the same realisation on Mittens’ face as he said: “You go.”
“But the newbies?”
“I’ll lead them and collect charges. Just go after Aniseed, get her home and then rejoin us.”
“Very well. If you think you can handle it.”
“I can.” Mittens held out the RA.
The RMC nodded once, took the offered RA and ran after Aniseed.
Mittens watched it go, but after a moment it disappeared into the forest. Then he turned around to face his worst nightmare: Being in a position of authority.
“Right,” he said, as commanding as he could manage, “we have a change in assigned tasks. James, you still have the notebook. Saxo, you get our spare RA.” He dug in the backpack until he found it and handed it over. “You are both responsible for watching the Words. Look out for author’s notes, punctuation rains and unmarked scene changes.”
“She is in Middle-earth,” James said. “Is that not non-canonical? Can we not get her now?”
Mittens shook his head. “I like the way you think, but no, we have to collect more charges to make the sentence stick. Let’s catch up with the Sue and find out what we’ve missed.”

Not much as it turned out. Frodo and Sam had found the crying Laurie. The Hobbits had noticed that Laurie was horrible bruised, but she wouldn’t tell them who had hurt her. Since she was all alone, they had decided to take her with them to Bree.
“Is that a charge?” James asked, pen poised and ready.
Mittens bit his lip, a lot more carefully this time. “Taking her with them seems dangerous, but so does letting her walk to Hobbiton alone. And this is movieverse, which makes it seem like Bree is much closer than it actually is.” He wished that the RMC was here to answer the question, then wished that he hadn’t just wished that. It had been gone for less than five minutes and already he felt out of his depths. “We’ll let it slide,” he said finally. “It’s non-canonical, but they are acting pretty much as one would expect from those two, if they found a lost little girl. However, she should be charged with being able to communicate with them.”
“The thing with the bruises,” Saxo said, sounding bored. “They seem to be from the beating we witnessed her getting, but after being beaten with an iron rod, the little girl would be lucky to be alive; yet she only has a few bruises.”
Mittens nodded. “Yes, charge for trivialization of injuries.”
They kept on following the Sue and the Hobbits, who were soon joined by Merry and Pippin. So far the fic was simply copying the movie.
James walked besides Mittens and asked: “Do you know my new brother in arms, this Saxo?”
“Oh, yes,” Mittens said. “He’s actually from the same fic you’re from.”
James turned his head to look at Saxo. “I say,” he said, “we actually are a kind of brothers.”
Saxo stopped dead in his tracks. “We are not brothers!” he said, loud enough that Mittens glanced at the Sue to see if she had heard; fortunately she hadn’t. Saxo continued: “I am a Death Eater, one of of Lord Voldemort’s trusted men and I’m not the brother of …”
“You are a Death Eater!?” James’ voice went surprisingly shrill for something so big.
Oh bother, Mittens thought. I’m sure this wouldn’t have happened if the RMC had been here.
James was only getting started. He waved his club at Saxo. “Defend yourself, so that I may slay you in honest combat, you villain, you scoundrel, you blackguard, you …”
“Yes, we get the picture,” Mittens said, grabbed James’ hands and forced him to lower his weapon. “But trust me, you do not want to do that. The Flowers very much frown on agents killing their partners, especially when it happens on their first mission.”
“Oh, they do?” Saxo asked. He had looked at little worried at James’ threats, but now he was smirking.
Mittens met his gaze evenly. “Yes,” he answered, “they do. Fortunately, you and I are not partners.”
Saxo stopped smirking.
Finally, James hung the club back in his belt and, grumbling slightly to himself, let Mittens drag him along in pursuit of the Sue and Canons.

“Right. The Buckleberry Ferry. Follow me,” He said, gesturing through the trees.

There was a ‘pop’.
“I say, what is this?” James asked.
“That’s a mini-Balrog,” Mittens answered. He squinted at the words. “It must be Buckleberry.”
“What are we supposed to do with it?” Saxo asked, sounding as bored as ever.
“Watch and learn,” Mittens replied. He rummaged around in the backpack, until he found a smaller one made of a grey material. “Asbestos backpack,” he explained. He placed it on the ground and opened it. “Come on in,” he said to the mini.
It looked at him as if to say, that he had to be joking.
“Come on,” he said. “We need to keep you safe and there’ll be bacon in the end.”
The mini gave him another look as if to say, that he had better be talking about truly obscene amounts of bacon, but climbed into the backpack. Mittens closed it, not too tightly, and handed it to Saxo.
“You can carry it,” he said.
“Why me?” Saxo asked.
“Because I said so!” Mittens barked, giving his best impersonation of his old drill sergeant. It seemed to work, for Saxo took the backpack and didn’t argue any more.
“And now, would you please portal us to Bree?” Mittens asked.
Saxo fiddled with the RA and managed to do as told, and they portalled into the village. The Hobbits and the Sue were outside, asking to be let in by the Gatekeeper.

His wording reminded Laurie of a book she had once read about the Middle Ages.

The words were in the voice of Laurie, but she didn’t seem to be talking.
“What was that?” Saxo asked, not even sounding bored.
With some difficulty, Mittens checked the words and felt a sense of dread wash over him. “Until now she has basically just been paraphrasing what happens in the movie, but now she is starting to add her own thoughts on things and it manifests as some sort of commentator track.”
The agents exchanged glances. They knew that this was a bad thing, even if they still didn’t know just how bad.
Laurie and the four Hobbits walked towards the inn. The three Uruk-hai went over to the gatekeeper and Mittens used the neuralyzer on him. “Um,” he said, wreaking his brain for the man’s name. When he finally came up with it, it wasn’t from the book, embarrassingly enough, but from a mission report he had once read, where the name had been mentioned. “Harry,” he said, “only four Hobbits entered a moment ago. There was no little girl with them.” 

With that taken care of, the agents followed the Sue and the Hobbits to the Prancing Pony. They stayed outside the inn, looking in through the windows and following the Words. And listening to Laurie’s thoughts, which were becoming more obnoxious by the second. Pippin told Laurie about Gandalf.

Laurie’s jaw dropped. A real wizard? She suddenly felt like she was in some epic fantasy tale, and the plot was thickening every second. Laurie’s first thought was centered on where this “Gandalf” person had gotten off to. Her next thought was pure and utter ecstasy at the prospect of meeting a real, live wizard. These thoughts ran together in her head as the Hobbits deliberated on a course of action.

“They are among humans now; they should be asking around for her parents,” Mittens said.
James looked at Mittens. “Should I charge for something?”
Mittens thought. “Making the Hobbits kidnappers,” he finally said. “Really, I can find no other words for what she is making them do.”
They continued to watch the scene inside the inn. The Hobbits were drinking and Laurie was playing with a bottle cork.
Mittens frowned. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” he muttered.
“Like what?” James asked.
Oh, great, Mittens thought. He had just revealed a lack of experience. He had to sound really clever now. He tried to copy the voice the RMC used when it explained things, as he said: “The normal reaction for a young girl who is thrown into another world, separated from anyone and anything she has ever known, is to be shocked, scared and sad.” He decided to continue in his own voice. “The way most Sues react – in fact one of the things that make them Sues – is to get used to the idea far too quickly and then be happy and enthusiastic. But this Sue is neither; in fact, I can only describe her reaction as … well, bored. I’ve never seen that before. Charge for it.”
In the fic, Laurie dropped her cork and got up to look for it. The cork had rolled into the corner where Strider was sitting and he handed it to her. She went back to the Hobbits and once again got caught in her own inner commentary track. She wasn’t pulled out of it until the three other Hobbits noticed that Frodo had gone and ran to find him.
“Hold on,” Mittens said. “There was supposed to be a scene with Frodo, where he accidentally slips on the Ring.”
“Hm, yes,” James said. “He was dancing on the table wasn’t he?”
“Well, this seems to be mostly movieverse so it wasn’t as elaborate, but it was there.” Mittens scanned the words as quickly as he was able to, but it was clear that the scene was missing. “It must have happened while she was zooned out. That stupid Sue!” he exclaimed. “She totally ignored the scene with the Ring in favour of inner monologuing. And she used a dropped cork to introduce Aragorn into her story.” He shook his head. “Charge for seriously bad storytelling.”
“There’s something in the words up ahead,” Saxo said. “I think it’s an Author’s Note.”
The agents covered their ears as the voice started blearing. 

Author’s Note: Sorry if some parts are a bit (Or way) off, but I couldn’t get my hands on a copy of FOTR. I’m doing this from memory (so expect the scenes to be completely out of order.)

“Charge for writing and posting a fanfic without having access to the canon material,” Mittens said.
The agents neuralyzed Barliman Butterbur and then followed the Hobbits, Aragorn and Laurie into the wilderness.
“Add Aragorn to the list of kidnappers.” Mittens looked darkly at Laurie. “Not only is she going to slow them down, taking her with them also means placing her in danger. They would never do that to a child, never. The worst thing is, that this fic actually seems to have an okay grasp of their personalities, except for this.”
Laurie’s inner voice started again.

Laurie followed close behind the Ranger, thinking that the closer she was to him, the farther she was from the Ring Wraiths. Laurie was in no hurry to meet the Nazgul again. It was several times that Laurie almost crashed into Strider when he stopped short to say something, or to check something on the ground. But Laurie still remained a solid three feet behind him at all times.

“Garh!” Saxo exclaimed. He went over to a tree and banged his head against it. He would have done so again, but Mittens grabbed his arm.
“This is what Bleeprin is for,” he said, digging in the backpack for the bottle and handing a couple to Saxo. “James, charge for having a really annoying inner voice.

 It was near sunset when the group reached Weathertop, as per canon.

“Should we,” Saxo began, managing to sound both bored and arrogant, “charge her for being able to walk all day without getting tired, despite her age?”
“Yeah,” Mittens said. “Also charge her with not slowing them down. It’s canon that they reach Weathertop at this time.”

Laurie stumbled back, and in her haste, she tripped and fell back on her bad wrist. Laurie had broken the wrist less than a week before, when she had tripped and fallen while running down a steep hill… to get away from Annabelle. It had been the first time she had ever tried to escape a beating, and the throbbing wrist was a painful reminder.

“A throbbing wrist? A throbbing wrist?!” Mittens stared at the Sue. “If you fall and land on your broken wrist, it doesn’t just throb. It should make you scream in a pitch only dogs can hear.” He turned to James. “Charge for …” he paused. “We already have a charge for trivialization of injuries, I want you to ramp that up to being totally clueless. This goes beyond simply not doing research, this is actively stupid.”

Frodo was wounded in the attack and became gravely ill. Laurie couldn’t bear to look at him and Aragorn took the time to ask her if she was okay and give her a pat on the head and some encouraging words, before he went out to look for Kingsfoil.
Laurie, who hadn’t given a thought to her old life since she came to Middle-earth, decided that now would be a good time to wangst about it. Her inner voice was heard, sounding even more whiny than usual.

Laurie was suddenly very depressed. How could she be brave now, when she couldn’t find the bravery to stand up to Annabelle after all these years? Laurie had been abused since she was three years old, so it had gone on for roughly five years. Every time Annabelle had struck Laurie- whether it was with a spoon, or a pen, or a knife… she had never protested. With a sinking feeling, Laurie felt it was her own fault that the abuse had gone on for so long. She could have stood up and said “NO!”, but she never had. With these thoughts, Laurie felt herself sinking deeper and deeper into the lonely hole of seclusion she had fallen into so many years ago…

“Charge for being unbelievably self-centred,” Mittens said. “Frodo is dying and she’s thinking of nothing but herself.”
“She’s blaming herself for the abuse she suffered at the hands of her mother,” Saxo said. “That seems … unreasonable.”
Mittens thought this over. He had been on the wrong side of more beatings that he could count and it had never occurred to him to feel bad about not standing up for himself. What would be the point? It would only make the beating worse. But he had no idea whether humans, especially children, thought the same way.
Finally he said. “We should just make a general charge for bad psychology. Her inner voice is all over the place in terms of vocabulary and subject matter; at least some of it has to be wrong.”
James noted the charge and no-one made further comments. Mittens felt that he had just dodged a bullet, but he doubted that he could keep this up. He wanted the RMC back.

When Sam returned with the Kingsfoil. Laurie was still in her own bubble.

Thoughts of her mother had taken away what little joy and awe she had received from stumbling into this new world.

“What joy and awe?” Saxo snarked. “You haven’t exactly shown much.”
Which was a odd statement coming from someone who had himself called Lord of the Rings boring, Mittens thought, but didn’t comment on it.

Fortunately Arwen and Aragorn arrived and gave the Sue something else to think about. Aragorn took the time to call Laurie over and hurriedly introduce her – and her only – to Arwen, daughter of Elrond, the Lord of Rivendell.

Laurie blinked, and wondered if that meant Arwen was a Princess.

“She not a princess,” all three agents said, in almost perfect unison.
James and Mittens turned towards Saxo.
“How would you know,” Mittens asked, “that Arwen is not a princess?” Saxo opened his mouth to answer, but Mittens continued: “And don’t try to tell me, that it was in the first two chapters.”
Saxo closed his mouth again. He seemed to think for a moment before he finally shrugged and said: “I scanned the rest of the book. Everyone here seem to make such a fuss about it.”
“So you only read the first two chapters?”
“Yes.”
“And didn’t like them?”
“No.”
“But you scanned the rest of the book?”
“Like I said,” Saxo answered, sounding annoyed.
“And didn’t like the rest either?”
“Certainly not.”
“Fine,” Mittens said and turned away from Saxo. If he wanted to be stubborn, he could just go ahead.
While this conversation had been going on, Arwen had taken Frodo to Rivendell. Aragorn, the Hobbits and Laurie were also heading there and had left the agents behind.
Mittens squinted at the words to see where would be a good place to catch up with the canons.

On their third day of running,

“On their third day of running!?” Mittens repeated. “It was bad enough when they were walking, but does this Sue really think that an eight year old girl can keep up with grown Hobbits who are running? And for three days no less? James,” he tuned to his fellow agent, “charge her with bad physiology. She chose to be a small child, but she either doesn’t care about the limitations inherent in such a choice or she is totally ignorant about them.” He squinted some more at the words, then turned to Saxo. “Portal us to where she is talking to Aragorn, right before they enter Rivendell.”

Laurie told Aragorn that she wasn’t from this world and asked what it was called.

“Ironic. This world is called ‘Middle Earth’, or ‘Arda’, as the elves call it.”

There was a plop and a squeak and the new mini, Middle Earth, was placed in the backpack.
Aragorn didn’t doubt Laurie’s words, but didn’t seem much disturbed by the revelation, either.
“He sure is taking it in stride,” Mittens said and immediately regretted the bad pun.
“Should I charge for that?” asked James.
“Don’t bother. If we should make a charge for every single case of someone in this fic having an underwhelmed reaction, we would still be back in chapter two and we would be out of notebook.”

Laurie hadn’t told Aragorn or anyone else about her being abused, but Aragorn had noticed a lot of old scars on her and also that she seemed more quiet and careful than most small girls. He felt something was wrong with her.

He knew he would definitely need to seek Elrond and Gandalf’s counsel on this.

Mittens facepalmed. “Worst. Timing. Ever.”
“Well, he is a kind and noble man,” James said. “Surely, he would worry about one of his subjects.”
“The fox might be right,” Saxo said. “Isn’t that what good persons do? Worry about the weak and undeserving, rather than look at the big picture?”
“Not in this case. Aragorn has much more important things to worry about. Right now, all that should be on his mind is whether Frodo and Arwen made it here safely and in time. The Sue is making this story all about herself and her wangsty past.”

Finally, they reached the gates of Imaldris.

With a small pop, Imaldris, the mini-Balrog appeared.
“The backpack,” Mittens said, gesturing to Saxo. When the mini was safely placed inside, the agents continued after the Sue and the canons.
Gandalf appeared and Laurie was introduced; at least she seemed to show proper respect for him. Then Aragorn said that he needed to speak to Gandalf and Elrond about Laurie. Laurie sneaked after them and eavesdropped on their conversation.
“Worst timing ever,” Mittens repeated gloomily. “They should be talking about the Ring and Sauron and the coming war. If they should be talking about her at all, it should be about the fact that she’s from another world and whether or not she is a minion of Sauron. It’s like …” He hesitated, searching for the right words.
“It’s like she’s trying to make them all fit a role,” James said quietly.
“Yes, exactly.” Mittens nodded. “She’s trying to make them act the way adults would, back in her own world, if they found out about her scars. She refuses to acknowledge that there are much more important things at stake and that these three persons, as kind as they are, simply don’t have time to talk about how a little girl fell and got a welt.”
James nodded, but didn’t say any more. He was thinking about the Sue from the fic he had been recruited from. She had wanted an old, dignified knight and she hadn’t cared about whether the role had suited the character she had given it to or not. As it so happened, the answer had been ‘not’ and a character replacement had been created. “We should remember to check for character replacements,” he said.
“Oh, sure,” Mittens replied. “We’ll do so at the council; everyone is there. In the meantime, charge for twisting this whole story to be about her being abused.”
In her hiding place, Laurie wangsted some more. This time, she blamed herself for the abuse, because her mother got terrible headaches and Laurie always managed to make her angry.

Lord Elrond stood up.
“There is nothing we can do about this now, as we have more pressing matters to deal with. Strider, Laurie is in Rivendell now, and I assure you that no harm can or will come to her here.

“Go Elrond,” Mittens said. “He is fighting the Suefluence.”
“Hooray,” James said with a grin.
Gandalf caught Laurie eavesdropping and tried to make her talk to him about her injuries, but she refused to reveal that they were made by her mother; she would only say that the person couldn’t harm her here. Gandalf was satisfied with this and didn’t press the matter.

He winked at Laurie, and she smiled. Another new friend! And in only a few days!

“She met Gandalf less than an hour ago,” Saxo said, “and now she thinks they’re friends because he winks at her? I foresee problems in this girl’s future, if she does not learn to be less enthusiastic about men winking at her.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Mittens said. “She’s not going to have much of a future.” All the talk about the Sue’s injuries had given him an idea as to how to execute her. He just needed the RMC back to approve it. He frowned at the thought. How long had it been gone? It was hard to tell, since the Sue rarely mentioned time and when she did, she brushed through long periods in a few sentences.
His thoughts were interrupted by the Sue wangsting about how all this making friends was too good to be true and that something bad was sure to happen. All three agents smiled their widest, scariest Uruk-hai smiles.

Laurie went with Sam to the dinner hall, where they found Aragorn, Arwen, Merry and Pippin. Here the agents had to listen to Arwen giggling.
“The Lady Arwen. Does. Not. Giggle.” James growled the words.
“Yeah, I’d say that’s a charge,” Mittens replied.
James tried to write the charge, but pressed the tip of the pen so hard against the paper that he tore the paper and had to turn the page and start over.

The next scene featured Laurie and all the Hobbits in Frodo’s bedchamber. Laurie was still haunted by the image of him lying pale and dying on the ground, even though she had completely ignored him back when it had actually happened.
Mittens looked ahead in the words and frowned. “You check as well,” he said. “Is there any mentioning of Elrond treating her injuries?”
After a moment both the agents shook their heads.
“No,” Saxo said.
“Just a lot of people arriving,” James chimed in.
Mittens nodded, then turned around and kicked a hapless stone, sending it flying into a bush. “That stupid Sue!” he growled. “She makes everything about her and her trajeck and abusive past and her injuries, to the point where people, with much more important things to do, are having meetings about her. But she neglects to have Elrond, one of the finest healers this world has to offer, do the one thing that would make sense and be totally in character for him. Charge for not having Elrond heal her.” He took a deep breath as James wrote the charge. “Let’s skip ahead to the council. We might as well get it over with.”

Laurie hid with the Hobbits to eavesdrop on the Council, which proceeded mostly according to movieverse, punctuated by Laurie’s internal commentator track. Imaldris, the mini-Balrog, scratched on the inside of the backpack upon the mentioning of its name. Laurie briefly ignored the council in favour of thinking about her mother’s abuse.
“Can we make a charge for forgetting to capitalize proper nouns?” James asked. “Or maybe even for only capitalizing every other one? The inconsistency is starting to make me feel seasick.”
“Go ahead,” Mittens replied and turned back to the action. The story had reached the climax, where Frodo volunteered to take the Ring and Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli and Boromir pledged their assistance. When Sam ran in, Laurie followed him.

“I’m going too,” Laurie blurted. Frodo, and pretty much everyone else, gave her an odd look.
“Laurie, it will be dangerous,” Gandalf warned her. She shrugged.
“I don’t care- it’s not like I have anywhere I have to be.” The wizard looked hesitant. Then he gave a gentle sigh.
“As you wish, Miss Summers.” He said. Many other members of the council gave him a strange look. He was permitting a little girl to go on a life or death quest?

There was the sound of something creaking. It appeared to come from everywhere at once, yet none of the canons nor Laurie seemed to hear it.
Mittens looked around, not liking this at all.
“I say, what is that sound?” James asked.
“I think it’s the Canon straining under the sheer improbability of an eight year old girl joining the Fellowship,” Mittens answered.
“Straining? You mean we’re going to have a canon break?” Saxo asked.
“No,” Mittens replied, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “If canon was going to break, it would have done so already. I can only recall hearing of one canon break and that was when a Stu put on the Ring and nothing happened.” He pointed to the people giving strange looks. “At least some of them are reacting normal. Charge for almost breaking the canon.”
Merry and Pippin came running in to join the quest.
“Uh oh,” Mittens said. He knew what came next.

Elrond smiled slightly.

“You shall count to nine,” Mittens muttered, “nine is the number of your counting.” Oddly enough, two things happened. Firstly, the creaking sound stopped. Secondly, Elrond stopped smiling and when he spoke, he sounded hesitant.

“Ten companions,” he murmured.

Mittens blinked in surprise, but didn’t stop. “You shall not count to ten, nor to eleven.”
Elrond actually frowned and sounded even more reluctant when he said the last part.

“So be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring.”

“Nine is number of the Fellowship,” Mittens finished and sighed. “That was weird. Usually the continuum only reacts that way when you cite actual canon. Shows how bad a shape it must be in, when goodfic is enough.”
“Should we get the readings now?” James asked.
“Sure.” Mittens pulled out the CAD, checked that it was muted and pointed it at Gandalf.
[Gandalf. Istari. Canon. Out of Character 81,29%]
“Hardly surprising,” Mittens said and pointed the CAD at Elrond. Then he looked at the readout and frowned.
[You are in a fic in which an eight year old girl joins the Fellowship] it said. The words disappeared as soon as he had read them and was replaced with: [Please assume that everyone who is okay with that decision] the words blinked again [is at least 80% OOC and don’t use me again unless] blink [you suspect an actual character replacement or have to check an OC.] After the last words, the screen went blank.
“What was that?” Saxo asked. He and James had both been looking over Mittens’ shoulder.
“Um,” Mittens replied. He turned the CAD over; on the back of it, a small label read ‘CAD MK-48’. “The RMC and I broke a CAD on a mission. It would seem that the one we got as replacement, has an attitude.
The screen flickered to life. [I heard that.] It went blank again.
“At least tell me the reading on Elrond,” Mittens said. “Not treating the Sue’s injuries is seriously out of character for him, even considering the fic.”
There was a brief pause, then the screen flickered to life once more. [Elrond. Half-elf. Canon. Out of Character 92,3%] The words disappeared again, almost before Mittens had read them and the screen went dark.
“So, no more analysing,” Mittens said. He shrugged and put the CAD in the backpack. “James, please write a charge for throwing everybody severely OOC.” He shook his head. “Including herself. I mean, whatever happened to ‘Laurie was in no hurry to meet the Nazgul again’? She was genuinely scared on the way here and she should want to stay in Rivendell. There has been no mentioning of her wanting to confront her fears or even that she only feels safe with her friends. She was just like, ‘Meh, I don’t have anything better to do. I’ll join you.’”
According to the story, the next couple of days were spent preparing for the journey and Laurie got to know her new travelling companions. The agents watched the narration for signs of bashing of Boromir or Gimli, but they found none.
“For once,” Mittens said, “Boromir and Gimli would have every reason in the world to give a ‘this is no place for girls’ speech and they don’t. We already have a charge for sending everybody severely OOC and I am still tempted to make this a separate charge.”
“Laurie has been given a dress for the journey,” Saxo said. “Why, with all the brain-bleeding stupidity this fic has already displayed, am I still surprised that she thinks a dress will be an appropriate attire?”
“At least she didn’t make Arwen give it to her,” Mittens said. “Charge for the dress.”

The Fellowship and Laurie set out from Rivendell and the agents went after them, after neuralyzing Elrond and everyone else, making a point to tell Arwen that she did not giggle.
Laurie kept up with the canon characters, even though she felt very tired and was not used to travelling on foot.
“I say,” James said, “This is the first we hear about her being tired and having difficulties keeping up. Why does she start now?”
“Dunno,” Mittens said. “maybe it occurred to the Sue, that she could wring more sympathy from the readers by getting exhausted and having trouble keeping up. Of course, now she is simply contradicting herself and making herself look stupid. If anything, she should be getting used to walking by now.”

Laurie was also a little distressed. She had the feeling that maybe Aragorn had told Legolas about his suspicions concerning Laurie. The elf had watched her carefully for the first week of the quest, and would talk quietly with Aragorn at night.

Mittens groaned. “Again with her being the centre of attention. They’re on a quest that will decide the fate of the whole world; does she really think that Aragorn and Legolas has nothing more important to talk about than her?”

Laurie fell and landed on her bad wrist.
Legolas was the one that helped her up, and he waved off the other members of the Fellowship, saying that he would take care of Laurie.

Mittens tensed and drew his knives. Beside him, the other two agents caught his drift and did the same.
Oddly enough, Legolas said that the wrist wasn’t broken, only twisted or sprained.

He stopped, and Laurie realized he was looking at the back of her hand. “Where did you get this?” He asked, gently touching the long, jagged scar on the back of her hand.

The agents all held their weapons at ready. Mittens whispered charges under his breath, preparing to rant off as many as possible before striking at the Sue.

“My hand slipped when I was cutting some vegetables,” She mumbled, looking down. It was that same impulse of hers- ‘Don’t lie to nice people’. And Legolas was a nice person, if she had ever seen one.

Mittens wished that he had brought his crossbow, wished that the two knives had been actual throwing knives, wished that Legolas hadn’t been sitting too close to Laurie for him to try throwing the knives anyway.
But nothing unseemly happened. Legolas put a splint on Laurie’s wrist and they got up and moved on, after Laurie had indulged in some more wangst. The three agents lowered their weapons and let out sighs of relief.

The fic moved on. Laurie had to keep her wrist with the splint still.
“Oh, now she’s not only getting exhausted, she also has to care about her sprained wrist,” Saxo said. “Even though when it was broken she never thought about it.”
“Yep, I’d definitely say that she’s angling for sympathy,” Mittens said. “James, would you be so kind as to charge for serious inconsistencies?”

The agents arrived at the gates of Moria right before the Fellowship and hid behind a rock-outcropping, where they watched Gandalf start to work on the doors.

They waited for nearly forty-five minutes, in which Gandalf attempted countless spells in Elvish, Orcish, Dwarvish, and a language Laurie couldn’t pinpoint.

“But she can distinguish the three other languages by sound,” Mittens commented. “Charge for that.”
Then the agents waited the forty-five minutes. While waiting, Mittens had time to think about the RMC. By now he was beginning to worry; even when taking into account all the time-compressions and portalling, he knew it had to have been at least a day since the RMC had left them. It should have been back by now and it started to seem more and more likely that something had happened to it. As much as it bothered Mittens to admit it to himself, the RMC wasn’t a good fighter. It was, in fact, kind of useless in battle. Its heart was in the right place; it had no qualms about hurting other living beings and Mittens didn’t think for a second that it would hesitate to kill, but its technique was non-existent. He hated to think this way about someone he looked upon almost as a commander, but it was the truth and he would have to face it. Mittens promised himself that he would make sure the RMC got some weapons training. If something happened to Mittens, if they got separated again, it needed to be able to defend itself.

In the fic, Gandalf had given up. Laurie went up and touched the door and Mittens expected her to steal the canon line, but it was Frodo who solved the riddle. The Watcher in the Water attacked them and dragged Frodo into the lake. Lauren was hit by a tentacle, knocked into a wall and laid dazed.
“Let’s get inside,” Mittens said, taking advantaged of the Sue’s inattention. Gandalf checked on Laurie, rather than helping the Ring-bearer and Mittens shook his head in disgust as they moved past.
They sat down in a dark corner and Mittens shook his head again, this time in confusion. “I just don’t get this Sue,” he said. “Almost any other Sue would have either helped Frodo against the Watcher or solved the riddle – most likely both – to justify being in the Fellowship, but this Sue is totally useless and does nothing to hide it.” He rubbed his head. Maybe speculating about Sues like this was one of the ways to go mad as an agent, but he found he couldn’t help himself. “What is the point of her? What does she think she’s adding to the story?”
“Her fascinating comments on everything?” Saxo asked.
Mittens smiled. “That must be it,” he said. “Too bad that all of her observations are completely inane; even her joke about ‘Gap of Rohan’ has already been used – and much better – in The Very Secret Diaries.”

The Fellowship proceeded into the mines and a new mini was spawned.

“Behold,” Gandalf said. “The great realm and Dwarf-city of Dwarrodelf.”

With a ‘plop’ the mini-Balrog, Dwarrodelf appeared and was quickly placed in the safety of the asbestos backpack with the others.
“Creation of minis,” Mittens suddenly remembered, “that’s also a charge.”
James added the charge and they kept following the canons and the Sue.
Laurie stole Frodo’s scene, where he for the first time sensed Gollum following them and the charge for doing this was added to the list.
Then followed the Orc attack.

Laurie scrambled out from under the stone and, almost instantly she was attacked. She slashed blindly at the Orc, and it screeched when she caught its nose with the tip of the dagger. Laurie shoved him away and moved to the side. The Orc snarled, and Laurie stabbed forward. Whether she hit just the right spot at just the right time, she didn’t know. The knife hit the Orc’s chest, and it died.

The three agents looked at each other.
“Um,” Mittens said.
“Um,” James concurred.
Saxo simply started giggling.
“I know, I complained that she is completely useless,” Mittens said, “but they way for her to remedy that, is not to start doing impossible feats. Charge for killing an orc.”
“I’d say! She is far too small to shove an Orc to the side to begin with. She also lacks the strength to properly stab it,” James said, while writing down the charge.
Saxo was still shaking with suppressed laughter.
“Yeah, and the Orc was wearing armour,” Mittens continued. “Not to mention that apparently it just stood there and let her stab it.” He looked at Saxo who had tears in his eyes. “Are you okay?”
“That …” Saxo breathed. “That was the most hilarious thing I have ever seen. That little girl with her tiny knife and she used it to kill an Orc. It was ridiculous.” He suddenly seemed to sober up. “Actually, that’s not really funny, is it?”
“Not really, no,” Mittens replied.
Saxo dried his eyes. “Didn’t think so.”

The Fellowship made for the Bridge of Khazad-dûm. Now, Mittens started to worry. In a very short while, Gandalf would fall with the Balrog and he wouldn’t show up again until much later. The problem was, that Mittens wasn’t sure that Gandalf being away for a very long time and doing whatever it was that turned him into Gandalf the White, while still under the Suefluence was a good idea.
He turned to his two fellow agents. “Saxo, the RA, please. We have to neuralyze Gandalf now.”
“But how?” James asked. “They are all running towards the bridge.”
“I don’t think you can get him to just stop and chat,” Saxo said as he handed over the RA.
Mittens bit his lip, forgetting to do it carefully and winced. “I’ll have to do it when he’s separated from the others.”
“On the bridge?” Saxo asked. “They’ll see you.”
“No, in the abyss.”
The other two just stared at him. He didn’t stare back, but made for the edge of the abyss. He could think of only one way to do this and he would have to time this extremely precisely, otherwise the result would be … messy. He wished he had wings. Or another body with wings. His kind had so many interesting potential abilities, but he hadn’t had time to learn any of them.
He pre-set the coordinates on the RA and also readied the neuralyzer. Then, he and the other two agents waited for the canons. 

Even in a Sue-fic, seeing Gandalf taking a stand against the Balrog was enough to give Mittens goosebumps. Then the Balrog’s whip wrapped itself around Gandalf’s leg and he tried to hold on, but fell. Mittens jumped.
He fell down the abyss next to Gandalf and saw the wizard’s eyes widen in surprise. Mittens pointed the neuralyzer in his direction, closed his eyes and pressed the button.
“Gandalf the Grey.” He had to yell, because the wind was snatching the words from his mouth. “You have never met a little girl named Laurie. You would never allow a little girl to go with you on this quest.” Mittens had wanted to say more, something about how Gandalf had more important things to do than hold meetings about little girls, but he was falling fast now and every second counted. “I was never here,” he finished, pointed the RA downwards and pressed the button. He landed in the snow on Caradhras. Conservation of energy dictated that he exited the portal with the same speed as he had entered it, so it wasn’t a soft landing, but he landed on a rather steep slope and slid a few feet before he was so deep in the snow that he couldn’t slide any longer. He laid for a second, the wind knocked out of him. Nothing seemed to be broken or seriously bent. He flailed around, trying to get up, then remembered that there was a cleverer way to do things. He was clinging so hard to the RA that he had to use his other hand to pry his fingers of it, but he finally managed to key in the coordinates and press the button.
He landed next his fellow agents, flat on his back. It hurt. He thought of the Stues that he and the RMC had dropped backwards through portals and found grim satisfaction in the idea, that it had hurt them as well. He picked himself of the ground. “That’s that taken care of,” he said. “Now lets move on.”
Saxo just stared at him, but James smiled broadly and said: “That was the most daring stunt, the bravest feat, I have ever seen!”
“Thank you,” Mittens said. “Hope you got a good look, because that was something I wont be doing again any time soon.”

They followed the rest of the canons as they exited the Mines and moved on to Lothlórien. Laurie claimed that her depression because of Gandalf’s death made her self-absorbed and uninterested in her surroundings; the agents were unable to spot a difference.

“Mae Govannen, Legolas Thrandullion.”

‘Plop’.

“Oh, another mini,” Mittens said. “It must be Thrandullion. I’ll get it. James, you can add it to the list.”

The Fellowship were taken to meet Galadriel and Celeborn. Galadriel spoke to Laurie, telling her that she had suffered much for one so young, but that all her suffering would come to an end.
“We’ll put an end to her suffering, all right,” Saxo said with a smirk.
“The Sue is making Galadriel sprout platitudes,” Mittens said.
There was a low growl from James at this, but before anything could be said, there was another of Laurie’s thoughts.

Galadriel was both a creepy and encouraging sight.

This time both Mittens and James growled.
“Charge for referring to the Lady of the Wood as ‘creepy’,” Mittens said. “Try not to break the pen or the notebook while doing so, but I won’t blame you if you do.”
An Author’s Note blared.

A/N: Okay, I kinda got Laurie’s gift from “The Chronicles of Narnia” (Lucy’s gift), but I couldn’t think of what she could get. But I assure you- it will play a part later on in the story. And for those of you who asked- yes, I shall be doing the complete trilogy.

The agents looked gloomily at the last sentence. Dead Fics, even bad ones, made them feel uncomfortable.
“Charge for ripping off Narnia,” Mittens said. “Also charge for getting a speshul gift, rather than just getting the same daggers as Merry and Pippin.”
Chapter Twelve opened with Laurie listening to the Elves singing.

She was slightly irritated that they always spoke in Elvish, and she could never understand what they were saying.

Mittens pinched the bridge of his nose. “Must. Resist. Urge. To. Make. Joke. About. Stereotypical. American. Tourists.” He swallowed some Bleeprin. “Firstly, you shouldn’t have been able to understand anyone in this world. Secondly, you get to experience Tolkien’s Elves in their homeland and your only reaction is to whine that they are speaking their own language, thou ungrateful whelp?” He turned to James. “Do we already have charges for being self-absorbed, lacking priorities and being super-underwhelmed?”
James looked through the notebook. “In some form or another, yes, yes and yes.”
“Add a charge for annoying PPC-agents.” By now, they had probably reached the point where no new charges would be generated, which meant that it was time to charge and kill the Sue.

She knew she would start to cry soon, and it would be all too embarrassing in front of a bunch of full-grown adults.

“Who have all been crying over Gandalf themselves,” Saxo said, with a smirk. “Except that she was too occupied with herself to notice.”
When Galadriel gave everyone their individual gifts, Laurie got a small bottle.

“A drop of this liquid,” Galadriel said, “Will heal any wound, no matter how serious. But be warned now- It cannot bring back the dead.”

“That’s ripping off Narnia all right,” Mittens said. “We’ll have to remember to get that bottle.”
“What did I miss?” a voice asked and a hand came down on Mittens’ shoulder. He spun around, standing face to face with an Uruk-hai. He had already drawn his knifes, when it occurred to him that most Uruk-hai do not go up to people, slap them on the shoulder and ask questions. He sheathed his knifes. “Most of the fic,” he said. “They are leaving Lothlórien.”
The RMC, disguised as an Uruk-hai, tilted its head. “I’m not sure what happened,” it said. “I fell through a plothole into something that looked like Narnia.”
“It most likely was,” Mittens said. “The Sue ripped it off.”
“That explains it then. I suppose the odd timeflow in Narnia meant that I spent much longer time there than I thought … Except, it should have been much less time.” It looked puzzled. “Oh, I know. I tried to go back to the beginning of the fic. I must have ended up in Narnia’s version of World One, where time moves much faster.” It nodded. “Anyway, I’m here now. What about the Sue, are we ready to kill her?”
“Yes,” the three agents chorused.
The RMC looked at them with a bemused expression. “Good,” it said. “Can I have a look at the charge list?”
“Of course,” James said and handed it the notebook.
The RMC read through it and frowned. “So, she doesn’t really do anything, except join the Fellowship and get in the way? And not even much of that?”
The three agents looked at each other and nodded; even Saxo and James agreed on this.
“She hasn’t got a lot of canon-breaks, no,” Mittens said, “but this fic is awful. Nothing makes any sense. She fails at logic, psychology, physiology and she can’t even be consistent about the things she gets wrong.”
“I see.” The RMC nodded. “No reason to drag this out any longer, then. If you have enough charges, we’ll kill her.” Its eyes got a distant look as it glanced at the words ahead of them. “The Fellowship reaches the Falls of Rauros. There’s a mini that we have to pick up.” It looked ahead further and its eyes widened. “Dear Eru, she goes with Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli, when they pursue the Orcs and she actually manages to keep up. There’s another mini.” Its eyes narrowed. “And she seems to be cosying up to Gimli.”
“What?” Mittens said. “I thought he was immune.”
“Well, not completely. He just gets ignored by most Sue, unless they want to use him as some kind of designated bastard. I can’t recall ever seeing a Sue who wanted to befriend him.”
Mittens shook his head to clear the confusion, then reached for the Bleeprin.
The RMC continued. “We can neuralyze Boromir, Merry and Pippin at the Falls.”

“Hide the boats and continue on foot. We approach Morodr from the North.”

With an indignant squeak, Morodr, the mini-Balrog appeared and was quickly placed in the backpack. Saxo grumbled about the weight, but Mittens suspected that he was making it up. He himself had never experienced the weight of minis as being a problem, just like there always was enough room for them in the backpack.
The Fellowship ran off in all directions in search of Frodo and Boromir and left Laurie alone.
“Once again she chooses to ignore the exiting bits in favour of her whining,” Mittens said. Then a burst of inner monologue hit them.

She rolled the cork in her hand, and made a note to keep a tight hold on it so that she didn’t drop it into the river or anything. She thought of Aragorn. Was this what it was like to have a father? Laurie didn’t remember her father- he had left her and Annabelle when Laurie was very young. She had a step-father… but he had never paid any real attention to Laurie. It wasn’t that he hadn’t liked her… he just thought she was a weird, clumsy, quiet kid.

They all winced.
“Dear Eru,” the RMC said. “Is this what the charge for inner monologuing was about? Has there been a lot of this?”
“Almost constantly, I fear,” James said.
The RMC shuddered. “I’ll do the neuralyzing,” it said. “Might as well finally make myself useful.” With this, it opened a portal and was gone.

Then, Laurie compared both ‘fathers’ to Aragorn. He paid attention to her. He was kind to her. He didn’t think she was just some ‘weird, clumsy, quiet kid’. He had gone out of his way to be nice to her. To protect her. He wasn’t Laurie’s blood-relative, but right now, Laurie wished that he was. At least then she’d have one real piece of a family.

“With her Suefluence, she could most likely make it happen,” James muttered.
“We wont let her,” Mittens said, handing out Bleeprin to his two colleagues.
After the RMC had carried out an actually quite impressive logistical feat and managed to get Boromir, Merry, Pippin, Frodo and Sam neuralyzed, they portalled to Rohan.

“This is Gimli, son of Gloin, Legolas of the Woodland Realm, and Laurie Summers. We are friends of Rohan and of Theodan, your King.”

The mini-Balrog, Theodan, sprinted over to the agents and was picked up and placed in the backpack.
“Now we can …” Mittens began, when they were all knocked over by an Author’s Note.

Author’s Note: Okay, due to popular demand, I am going to stray from the story line. But it’s not going to come up for a while, so just sit tight for a chapter or two.
Oh yeah, and thank you all for the lovely reviews! It’s encouraging that people aren’t beating me down and calling this a Mary-Sue. Then again, Laurie’s eight, and it’d be pretty dmn creepy if she fell in love with someone… (Shudders)

Mittens got up and glared. “First of all,” he said, “it would have been nice to know a lot earlier on, that you didn’t plan on making this a romance. Secondly, some of the worse Sues in recorded history have been children or siblings of main characters, rather than love interests. If that’s your excuse, it’s a stupid one. James, charge for not having any idea what a Mary Sue is, but still claiming that she isn’t one.”
James scribbled the charge. “Do we charge her now?” he asked.
Mittens looked at the RMC, who nodded. “Yes,” Mittens replied, “now it’s time; we just have to find an opportune moment.” He squinted at the words. “And I think it’s there.”

At the sight of the pile of burning Uruk-hai and especially the head of one, mounted on a spear, Laurie felt nauseous and she went off to the side. She was just done being sick, when she saw a blue light fall on her from behind and then someone grabbed her.
She screamed and her friends turned towards her, weapons in hands, but whoever had grabbed her, held her up like a shield and Legolas dared not shot and the others dared not come any closer.
She heard a voice saying, in a mocking tone: “Careful, we don’t want her getting lucky with the knife again.” Then she felt the knife being removed.
Another voice said: “Now that I have your attention …” Then there was a bright flash of light and Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli all got sleepy and confused looks.
“Okay, listen,” the voice said. “None of you know a little girl names Laurie who claims to be from another world. None of you would ever dream of taking a child on this quest. Also, Aragorn, you are far to busy to fret over some little girl’s bruises. You were looking for signs of the Hobbits and you should continue to do so.”
To Laurie’s horror, they all nodded slowly and just turned away. Even Aragorn didn’t as much as look at her. She wanted to scream again, break the evil spell they were under and force them to remember her, but she was dragged backwards into the blue light and her friends disappeared.

Mittens placed Laurie on the ground and the four agents surrounded her.
“You should read the charges,” the RMC said.
Mittens nodded and got the notebook from James. He cleared his throat. “Laurie Summers,” he said. “As Protectors of the Plot Continuum we hereby charge you with the following crimes: Slandering single parents; copying – no, ripping off – your back story; being able to understand people, even though they don’t speak English and you presumably don’t speak Westron; severe trivialization of injuries, to the point where you are completely clueless about them; making the Hobbits and Aragorn kidnappers; coming to a new world and reacting by being bored; bad storytelling; writing and posting a fanfic without having access to the canon material; having a really annoying inner voice; being able to walk and run all day and even keep up with the rest of the Fellowship; being unbelievably self-centred; multiple instances of bad psychology and bad physiology – basically, most of the time, you neither think nor act like an eight-year-old and you can’t even be consistent about how you are wrong; twisting the whole story to be about you being abused, to the point where it is the only thing on people’s mind.”
He lowered the notebook to glare at the Sue. “Didn’t it ever occur to you,” he asked in a conversational tone, “that people here are in the middle of a war that will determine the fate of the whole world and that maybe, they have more important things to worry about than you?”
The Sue looked at him blankly, which was all the answer he needed. Clearly, the idea had never occurred to her.
He sighed and kept on reading. “You are also charged with making Arwen giggle; not having Elrond treat your injuries and crimes against capitalization. If you’re not going to capitalize all the proper nouns, you shouldn’t capitalize half of them. For one thing, it clearly marks you as being lazy, which is worse than being ignorant, and for another, it makes my fellow agent feel seasick. You are also charged with almost breaking the canon by joining the Fellowship, even though you are only eight years old.”
He lowered the notebook again. “Really, I cannot begin to describe how wrong that is. ‘Do not place a child in unnecessary danger’ is not some obscure footnote in the Silmarillon; it is a rule so basic, that humans across the world goes by it. I won’t even call it common sense, since even several species of animals follows it. Saying that you threw everybody severely out of character, simply doesn’t do justice to what you did.” He leaned closer to Laurie. “Congratulations,” he said, “I believe you’ve managed to make the members of the Fellowship act more stupid and irresponsible than several species of frogs.”
He leaned back. “Besides that, you are also charged with making yourself act OOC by going into danger without any kind of justification; wearing a dress on the journey; having serious inconsistencies; being able to distinguish the three different languages by sound; creation of the mini-Balrogs Buckleberry, Middle Earth, Imaldris, Dwarrodelf, Thrandullion, Morodr and Theodan; stealing Frodo’s scene; managing to kill an Orc; referring to the Lady Galadriel as ‘creepy’; ripping off Narnia; getting a speshul gift; annoying PPC-agents and claiming that you are not a Sue, even though you clearly have no idea what you’re talking about, which leads me to the final charge for being a Mary Sue. You punishment for these crimes is death.”
When Mittens finally closed the notebook, the RMC said: “Good; you’re getting the hang of what makes a story work. It seems that all that watching the Nostalgia Critic has paid off.”
Mittens smiled, then looked at Laurie. “Do you have any last words?”
Laurie blinked with big tear-filled eyes. “You’re just like Annabelle. She hurt me all the time and whenever I made friends she moved us to a new city and I …”
Mittens hit her with the notebook to get her to shut up. Then he smiled; not a nice smile. “You’re right,” he said, “we’re exactly like your mother. We get these headaches and then the only thing that helps is to hurt you.”
“Not that I don’t agree we you,” the RMC said, “but we still need to find and neuralyze Gandalf before he meets up with the others.”
“Oh, I’ve already neuralyzed him,” Mittens said.
“Really? When did you manage that?”
Mittens told him when and how.
The RMC looked at him for a moment, then it grabbed his arm and dragged him off to the side. “I wish I could just tell you how much I admire your devotion to the Duty and your ingenuity, but honestly, what were you thinking?! You could have been killed!”
Mittens blinked. “I wouldn’t have stayed dead,” he said.
“None of us know exactly what will happen if you die, but at the very least it will be a bloody inconvenience and at worst you wont be able to get back.”
Mittens looked down. He thought he had done good, but it seemed he hadn’t. Now the RMC was angry with him.
Then the RMC grabbed him and hugged him so hard that he couldn’t breathe. “You could have died,” it said and suddenly it didn’t sound angry at all. When it finally let him go and stepped back, it said: “We’ll talk more about this later, but for now, I’ll put it in words you can understand. If you at any time have to choose between postponing the Duty and placing yourself in an unreasonable amount of danger, you are to postpone the Duty. And that’s an order.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Now, it’s high time we found out what to do with our Sue,” the RMC said as they walked back to the others.
“Actually,” Mittens said, “I have an idea.” He looked at Laurie. “We are not going to hurt you,” he said. “We are not going to do anything to you. We’ll let you do it to yourself.” He reached over and took a small bottle from her pocket. “Can’t forget this. A rip-off from Narnia given by Lady Galadriel herself will make for a really nice souvenir.”

The agents stood looking through the open door to the Reality Room. Inside, the full effect of being beaten with an iron rod, was catching up with the Sue. It wasn’t a pretty sight. James looked away and the RMC placed a large paw on his shoulder; he didn’t know whether it was to comfort him or to remind him that he had to watch. At least it was over quickly.

After the clean-up was done, the agents all walked back to RC#170. They were expecting that there would be a message there, instructing James and Saxo about what they should do and where they should go. As it turned out, there was a message, but not the kind they had expected.
“Uh-oh,” Mittens said, looking through the open door and into the RC.“What? Are the mini-Darkspawn preparing a Blight again?” the RMC asked. “When will they understand, that they are not allowed to do so in HQ?”
“Better see for yourself,” Mittens said and stepped inside. The others followed him.
“Uh-oh, indeed,” Saxo muttered as he looked around.
The RC had grown quite a bit and instead of one door leading to the bathroom and two doors leading to bedrooms, there were now two extra doors in the opposite wall. There were also two extra beanbags.
“I say, it looks like we’re supposed to stay,” James said, sounding enthusiastic.
Mittens and the RMC looked at him, then at each other and nodded weakly.
Saxo looked outraged. “I will not stand this!” he said. “If I’m to be partnered with the fox, at least we should get our own room. I’ll …”
“Oh, hush,” the RMC said. “Sit down.”
“But I’ll …”
“Mittens will make us tea. He can open his gift early; it looks like a larger teapot.”
“Hm. Very well. But just one cup and then I’m off to complain to the Flowers.”

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The Great Escape aka. Mission One Point Five

Author’s Notes: This mission is rated M and NSFW for mentioning of sexual content and for agents using swear words.
The fic is a side story to the agents’ very first mission, Better Than Revenge, in which Hermione was a Time Lord and a Sue, to boot. It should be possible to read this without knowing the other, but it might be more fun to read that first.
The term ‘Meta Crisis’ does not appear in this fic, but is used in the main fic, which is how I know that this really is a Meta Crisis and not the Sue inventing a non-canonical form of regeneration.
Disclaimer: The PPC belongs to the legen — wait for it… — dary Jay and Acacia; I’m only playing in it. Torchwood and Doctor Who belong to the BBC. The Great Escape belongs to Blinded-Kit who is asked to keep it – preferably far away from us. Agents Mittens and the Radioactive Moss Creature are mine.

In RC#170 there was peace and quiet. Mittens was sitting in one of the beanbags, playing Okami. The Radioactive Moss Creature was rubbing the tulip kitten, Aniseed, with a flame repellent ointment known as kenet, which originated in Robin McKinley’s ‘The Hero and the Crown’ continuum. Back when the agents had acquired their mini-Darkspawn, many of which could breathe fire, they had taken to fireproofing the RMC twice a week, to prevent any mishaps. When the RMC had adopted Aniseed, this precaution had been extended to her. Aniseed thought that this was one of the greatest pleasures life had to offer and was purring like a small sawmill. She also liked the taste of the ointment and it was a bit of a struggle for the RMC to get it on her before she could lick it off its paws.
In the game, Mittens was trying to get through the Konahana Shuffle and had been trying unsuccessfully for about twenty minutes. Now he finally thought he had it figured out and started the sequence again. He got the first flower right, then the second, the third and the fourth and was just about to do the fifth. It will come as no surprise to anyone familiar with the workings of the PPC, that the console chose this exact moment to go BEEP! Mittens’ thumb slipped and he lost the fifth flower. He got up, noticed that his right foot was asleep and limped over to the console, where he pressed the red button and started to read the Intelligence Report.

The RMC stopped what it was doing and watched him for a moment, which Aniseed took advantage of by pouncing on its paw and licking off the kenet. It gently shook her off and resumed the rubbing, but still watched Mittens, trying to get a hint about what kind of mission this was, by looking at his expression.
The agents had heard nothing from Upstairs about their, or rather the RMC’s, decision to use a completely new recruit in a mission. It was of course possible, that Upstairs had decided to overlook the harebrained scheme on account of it actually working, but it didn’t really believe this. It rather suspected that Upstairs were planning to punish them in a more subtle way and it kept expecting a Twilight troll-fic to land on their table.
However, when Mittens finally turned around, his expression was not one of horror, but rather one of slight puzzlement. “You remember our first mission?” he asked.
“Of course,” the RMC replied. “Bleeprin can only do so much.”
“What’s a ‘Side Story…ONE-SHOT’?”
The RMC winced slightly. “It is usually just pronounced ‘one-shot’, without all caps. Let me have a look.” By now it had finished with Aniseed, so it dried its paws on a towel and walked over to the console to have a look at the Intelligence Report. “Yes, I remember,” it said. “In our first mission, the Time Lord!Sue died, but regenerated as herself – only even prettier, of course – and explained it with having gone through a Meta Crisis. Back then I assumed that she was simply hand waving the explanation, but it appears that she was serious.”
“I’ll go ready the backpack then. I’ll bring the gun and the Muggle-use wand.” Mittens had no idea what the RMC was talking about, but figured that he would catch on eventually and that the RMC would tell him, if there was anything he really needed to know.
“So, I was thinking,” the RMC said, a bit later, when they were ready to go and Mittens was setting the disguises. “Maybe when we get back, we could go catch a movie.”
“Sure. Did you have anything in mind?”
“Well, our author has this tradition, where every year she goes to see ‘The Nightmare before Christmas’ in 3D. What do you say we one-up her?”
Mittens nodded thoughtfully. “Christmas,” he said. “Yes, that sounds like fun.”
The portal opened and the agents jumped through.

After a short disclaimer, the fic started in the final episode of ‘Children of Earth’ where Jack’s grandson, Steven, was being used as a living weapon against the 456. His mother was screaming and being held back by a couple of guards.

“Urgh,” the RMC said. “Can’t even get that right. His mother was outside a door looking in when this happened.”
Mittens looked at it. “You’re a cat again,” he said.
“So I am,” the RMC said. “Guess I shouldn’t have distracted you, while you were setting disguises. Or maybe the console just thought, that since I was a cat the last time we dealt with this Sue, I should be so again. Anyway, we’ll leave it be, if that’s all right with you. I’m actually more comfortable having four legs.”
“Okay.”
“Charge for getting the scene wrong, please,” the RMC said.
Mittens had brought the old notebook from their first mission. He flipped to the back and added the new charge.

They could see the crack forming on his forehead as his brain began to explode inside his school, and then finally, it was over and his limp body fell to the ground.

Steven’s head turned into a small school building and then he fell to the ground.
“If we ever needed proof that this really is the same Sue, I’d say we just got it,” Mittens said.
The RMC flicked its tail in distaste. “She’s getting things even more wrong,” it said. “Steven’s brain did not explode and there was no crack on his forehead. He was bleeding from the nose and ears and it was a lot more dignified than this.”

The Hermione!Sue, the agents knew from their first mission, teleported in, glowing with regeneration. She went over to Steven.

She stated sadly down at the young boy, placing one hand on his forehead and another softly on his chin, to open his mouth. She exhaled, the gold dust like particles flew out of her mouth and into his. Slowly, the light glow around her dimmed as she gave her regeneration to the boy.

Steven returned to life.
“Oh, great,” the RMC said. “Now we have a non-canonically alive canon to deal with.”

“Well, that’s my good deed of the day.” Hermione groaned as she stretched, before pulling her vortex manipulator from her pocket.

“Charge for having a vortex manipulator,” the RMC said. “They are generally only found on Time Agents and Jack’s is accounted for so …” Its voice trailed of as a thought struck it and it looked from Hermione to Steven and back again. “Wait, a minute,” it said. “This is wrong. This is very, very wrong.”
“What is?” Mittens asked.
“Hang on; I’ll just check the words. I could be mistaken.” The RMC squinted. “No, I’m not. She faints into the strong arms of Captain Jack, there’s a scene change and she wakes up in a hotel room some time later.” It hissed, then continued: “She sleeps with Jack, makes him seriously consider a threesome with the Doctor and there is no mentioning whatsoever of Ianto Jones and his recent death. But we have to let those charges go. We need to clean up this mess, right now; I’ll explain later. The minute Hermione faints, open a portal beneath her and Jack. That scene change can not be allowed to happen.”
Mittens nodded and as Hermione fainted into the arms of Jack, he opened the portal and they fell through.
“Now neuralyze the rest,” the RMC said. Mittens took out the neuralyzer, held it high and stepped forward. Everyone, who had been staring at the place where Jack disappeared, looked at him; some of them pointed weapons at him. He closed his eyes and pressed the button.
“Right,” he said. “There was no mysterious woman, who showed up to save Steven. Jack did most certainly not fall though the ground a minute ago. I was never here and neither was my cat.” Then he jumped though the portal in the floor, the RMC following him.

Captain Jack Harkness fell though the portal and landed on a hilltop in a remote location, still managing to hold on to Hermione. A few moments later, Mittens and the RMC came after him.
Jack looked at them and frowned. “You look familiar somehow,” he said. He looked down at Hermione. “She’s not real, is she?”
The RMC shook its head. “No,” it said.
If Jack was at all surprised at the talking cat, he didn’t show it. “So Steven is not really saved?” he asked.
“No,” the RMC answered. “But he wouldn’t have been anyway. She screwed up really badly.”
Jack nodded and dropped the Sue on the ground. “Too good to be true,” he said.
“Look this way, please,” Mittens said and held up the neuralyzer. A moment later, when Jack was properly neuralyzed, they opened a portal to the corridor in the warehouse and sent him through. Then they turned to the Sue.
Mittens shook her awake, not gently, and she opened her eyes with the confused look of a person, who was expecting to wake up in a bed, with Captain Jack Harkness in the room wearing only a towel, and instead woke up on a hill, with a seriously irate person standing over her and a cat sitting next to her.
The RMC had the notebook placed in front of it, opened on the last page.
“Hermione Granger, you are charged with a bunch of the same crimes as in our first mission, which we won’t bother to go into here, except for two things. Firstly, your are charged with ignoring the fact that the Harry Potter books are a fictional series in the Whoniverse; a charge we forgot to make the last time, so it’s nice to get that out of the way. Secondly you are charged with character defamation of Hermione Granger, by claiming to be her, which annoys us even more in this fic.
You are also charged with not getting the scenes right, with having a vortex manipulator and with serious canon breaching by making a Human-Time Lord Meta-Crisis with Steven Carter. There has only ever been one of those and it is so extraordinary, that it made Donna Noble the most important woman in the universe; but even this huge canon break pales in comparison to what you did next, which was nothing. You know what a Meta Crisis is, so you must know what it did to Donna Noble and what the Doctor had to do to keep her from harm, and yet you took absolutely no precautions to keep Steven Carter safe. Which means that, in a very short time, his brain is going to overload and fry from the inside.” It took a deep breath and yelled: “What the fuck is wrong with you!? You didn’t think once was enough for the kid!?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Hermione smirked.
“No, it pretty fucking obvious, that you don’t know what I’m talking about and why don’t you!? Did you only see the first part of the episode and thought ‘hey, that Meta Crisis looks cool. I must get me one of those’ and then you went out to look for canon characters to shag, without bothering to watch the rest!?” It broke up, stepped away from her and gestured to Mittens.
He stepped forward and cleared his throat. “You are also charged with saving a character who was canonically dead. When we put canon back in order, he will return to being dead, which means that, technically, you’re making us kill a canon character. That’s also a charge.”
“And that’s just the best case scenario,” the RMC added, having had a moment to calm down. “If he doesn’t go back to being dead, when canon reasserts itself, it means that someone will have to get their hands dirty. You better pray that this doesn’t happen, because if it does, my colleague and I are going right back to the Floating Hyacinth to tell her, that we are not going to complete this mission and why. Oh, she’ll be angry and a couple of Twilight troll-fics will come our way, but what matters is that we won’t be made to complete the assignment and instead she’ll send some of the tough guys.” It flicked its tail. “They don’t mind killing a canon child. Imagine what they’ll do to you.” There was long pause in which Hermione tried to smirk, but failed.
Finally the RMC continued: “You are also charged with conspiring to do further crimes, mostly having to do with you lusting after Captain Jack Harkness. For all these crimes you are sentenced to death. Any last words?”
“No.” Hermione growled. “I want my Jack. I’m his favorite person in the whole world, next to the Doctor.” She drew her wand.
If she had actually bothered to display some kind of combat skill in her fics, rather than just sleeping with canon characters, or if she had been more like the real Hermione, something might have come of this. As it were, Mittens, who had drawn his gun while the RMC read the charges, simply shot her in the head before she could utter an incantation. “So,” he said, “do we feed her to the Acromantulas again?”
“Don’t see why not. Those who do not learn from their mistakes are doomed to repeat them and to have the punishment repeated by PPC-agents. Grab that Vortex Manipulator, would you?”
“Huh?”
“Her leather bracelet.”
“Oh, right. I’ll get it.”

After disposing of the Sue, the agents returned to the warehouse to check up on the canons. They both felt their hearts sink. They had hoped that canon had completely reasserted itself by now, but Steven was clearly alive and Alice Carter was still hugging him, smiling happily. Around them, everyone else was going about their business, not looking at the non-canonically living boy and his mother.
“Steven hasn’t gone back to being dead yet,” the RMC said. “And Alice is aware of it. Of course, it would be very out of character for her not to be aware of it. She might not remember why he is alive; she just knows that he is.”
“And her knowing that he is alive is helping to keep him that way,” Mittens added. “Do we need to separate them to break the loop?”
“That would be the next step, but let’s start by neuralyzing her again and reminding her that he is actually dead. Maybe that will be enough to push canon into snapping back.” It looked up at Mittens. “You’ll have to do it. I can’t talk to her looking like this.”
“Okay.”
“Her name is Alice Carter,” the RMC said. “The boy’s name is Steven Carter.”
Mittens nodded and walked towards the woman. She was still sitting on the floor with her son, cradling him, and he was smiling up at her, with the smallest hint of confusion.
Mittens closed his eye for just a moment, then proceeded to walk up to them, taking out the neuralyzer. “Alice Carter,” he said.
She looked up at him and he closed his eyes and flashed the neuralyzer at her. When he opened his eyes again, she was looking at him blankly. “Alice Carter,” he repeated. His hands were suddenly shaking badly and he clenched them. “There was no mysterious woman who appeared out of nowhere and revived your son. Steven is …” He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, but Steven is dead.”
Alice Carter frowned. “But …” she began. Then she looked at the child in her lap. He wasn’t moving. “No!”
“I’m sorry,” Mittens said.
“No! No! No! No!”
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
As she started sobbing, he turned and walked away. He felt faint and dizzy and he had to make an effort to unclench his hands, so he could operate the RA and open a portal back to HQ.

Back in RC#170 Mittens slumped down in the beanbag, but made no motion to pick up the Playstation controller. The RMC looked at him, worried. It thought a cup of tea might have been soothing, but it lacked the hands to actually make one, so it just walked over to him and placed its paw on his knee.
“You had no choice,” it said.
“I know,” he replied, in a voice that suggested that even though he knew it, he didn’t believe it.
“The Sue had rigged it so that, if you hadn’t done what you did, he would have died anyway and in a much worse way.”
Mittens nodded. They sat in silence for a couple of minutes until something scratched at the RMC’s leg, demanding its attention. It turned to look and Mittens did the same. Gray and Lylium, two of the mini-Darkspawn were holding a steaming mug between them. Behind them, the rest of the minis were gathered, along with Aniseed and the Prefect Badger, all looking at the agents intently. Further behind them, the kitchenette was a bit of a mess, with a tea tin having been knocked over and the tealeaves having been spilled on the table.
Mittens reached out and took the mug. He looked at the content, then took a sip. “Thank you,” he said. He looked at the RMC and smiled weakly. “I’ll be okay,” he said. The RMC patted his knee, but didn’t say anything.
“About that movie,” Mittens began.
“We can go another day, if you’re not feeling up to it.”
“No, I think I would like to go. It’s just … Does it have a happy ending?”
“It certainly does.”
“Then I would love to see it.”
“Drink your tea then. We’ll leave, when you’re finished.”

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Halloween Co-Write

Author’s note: Since one of my favourite things in the whole world is recycling my own work, this is a edited (and translated) version of a story I wrote last year around Halloween.
Disclaimer: The PPC belongs to the awesome Jay and Acacia. Mittens and the Radioactive Moss Creature are mine.

Everybody was still shuddering after the last story, but turned to the next in line. Mittens, who had just taken a huge bite out of a pumpkin muffin, looked surprised. He swallowed hard, then said: “No, not me. I don’t know any scary stories.” He looked at the Radioactive Moss Creature; not for any particular reason, he just always looked at it, when he felt out of his depth, but the others all followed his gaze.
“How about you?” one of the other guests asked. Because of the darkness is was hard to tell who it was. “Do you know any scary stories?”
“I suppose I may know one,” it said. There was a murmur of encouragement from the other guests so without further delay, the Radioactive Moss Creature started its tale.

”I think there’s a ghost in my apartment,” Cecilia said.
“There are no such thing as ghosts,” Christoph said without thinking, and he regretted it immediately when he saw the annoyed look on Cecilia’s face.
“I know, that there are no such thing as ghosts,” she replied, sounding very patient as if he was the one, who had said something outrageous and she was now explaining to him how things really worked. “When I say, that I think there’s a ghost in my apartment, it is because I have seen something, that has made me doubt what I thought I knew. You see?”
He didn’t. Not really. But he nodded anyway and, because it seemed like she was waiting for him to do so, he asked: “What have you seen?”
He had expected her to answer something like ‘things not being where she put them’ or ‘strange sounds’; the kind of things that people in TV-shows and magazines who claimed to be haunted, always complained about.
Instead she said: “I’ve seen the ghost.”
“Oh,” he said. He couldn’t really think of anything else to say, but apparently that was all the encouragement she needed.
“Yes,” she said. “It was sitting by the piano, playing.” She looked him straight in the eye as she said it.
“You don’t have a piano,” he pointed out.
“It brought its own.”
He wanted to say that she was imagining things, but he knew that it would only upset her, and that she would probably point out how hard it was to imagine a piano-playing ghost and he would have a hard time arguing that, so in the end he just said: “Oh.”
Once again, this was all the encouragement Cecilia needed. “I was out in the kitchen, fixing myself a cup of tea and I heard the sound of a piano playing. It was low and a bit muffled, so I thought it was coming from one of the neighbours. But when the tea was done and I left the kitchen, I looked through the door to the bedroom and there I saw a piano almost right inside the door. One of those upright pianos, you know, and there was someone sitting at it, playing it. It was the strangest thing in the world, much too strange for me to even get really frightened. So I just stood there, with my teacup and all, and listened. It was a lovely piece of music, not something I recognised. When he was done, he closed the lid, very carefully, and stood up and then both he and the piano disappeared.”
“Couldn’t it have been …” Christoph began, but paused when he realized that there was no reasonable way to finish the sentence. He could think of nothing that could be confused with a piano and a man playing it, especially not when there had also been music. But there were no such thing as ghosts. He suddenly found himself wondering about Cecilia’s mental state of health. But as she was sitting in front of him, with bright eyes, waiting for him to finally make a comment that was something other than ‘oh’ it seemed absurd for him to do so. Anyway, how did you, in a polite way, ask someone if they were feeling entirely well?
He saw her frown. “Are you okay, Christoph? Now you look like it’s you who’ve seen a ghost.”
“No. No, of course not. It’s just … Are you sure? I mean, you couldn’t have been mistaken?”
“No, Christoph, I could not have been mistaken. There were far too many details for it to simply be a shadow.” She half closed her eyes for a moment. “I can still see it clearly. There were candle holders on the piano, with unlit candles in them.” She opened her eyes again and shook her head lightly. “I either saw the whole thing or hallucinated it all, but no mistake is possible.”
“Have you seen it more than once?”
“No. But I haven’t lived there for very long.”
“Then maybe it won’t show up again. Maybe it wasn’t really anything.”
“Is that the scientist speaking? If the experience cannot be reproduced under controlled circumstances, then it doesn’t count?” He didn’t answer, but something must have shown in his face, for she leaned over and placed her hand on his, briefly. “I was only teasing,” she said. “I just wish that you could have seen it. It was extraordinary. And beautiful. Not at all frightening.” She looked like she was searching for the words to describe it. “I felt … privileged to have watched it.”
He still felt worried, but he managed to smile.
Cecilia looked at the clock. “I should go now,” she said. “Catch the next bus.”
He watched her from the window as she left.

Christoph was at a bar, having a beer with a couple of fellow students. The conversation had turned to an upcoming movie they were all looking forward to see. Christoph wasn’t taking part in the conversation, he was just nodding and making grunts at the right places, when his phone rang. He fumbled it out of his pocket and read Cecilia’s name in the display. He answered the call. “Hi, Cecelia!”
“Hi! Could you turn the music down, pleace?”
“I’m at a very noisy bar. I’ll go outside.” He squeezed himself through the throng of people until he reached the door. “I’m outside now.”
“Can you hear it?”
“Hear what?”
“I won’t tell you what to listen for. I just want to know if you can hear it.”
He strained his hearing and thought he could hear music. “Music?” he asked.
“Yes!” The word sounded very loud in contrast to the low music, he had just been able to pick out. “You can hear it too! You can hear the ghost.”
Christoph felt a shiver run down his spine at her words. He listened even more carefully. Yes, it really was a piano playing. “It doesn’t prove anything,” he said. “It could be a recording.” A long silence followed his words, broken only by the soft tones of the piano, playing a lovely little tune, he didn’t recognise.
Finally, Cecilia said: “Are you suggesting that I’m sitting at home, playing a record for you, trying to trick you into believe in the ghost?”
“No, of course not. I’m just saying, that is what other people might say, if you try to tell the public about the ghost.”
“Is it, really?” He could hear her smile. “That is very forward-looking of you, Christoph. I’m just trying to convince you; I hadn’t even begun to think about the general public. But I think you should see the ghost for yourself. Come on over tomorrow night.”

Christoph had been hanging out in Cecilia’s apartment every evening for a week now. It was nice. They would talk and watch movies and drink lots and lots of tea. But the ghost hadn’t shown up and Christoph could tell, that it was bothering Cecilia. When they talked, she wasn’t all there and when they watched movies, she didn’t turn the sound up too high. He noticed how her hands sometimes seemed to grip the handle on her tea cup a little too tightly, as if she was suddenly struck by an unpleasant thought.
This evening started out the same. They drank tea and was talking a bit about one of Christoph’s teachers, when Cecilia tilted her head. “You hear that?” she said.
It took Christoph a moment to even remember what she was talking about, but then he did notice it. The faint sound of a piano playing. Before he could say anything, she had gotten up and walked into the hallway. He followed her. She was standing in the hallway, one hand on the wall, looking through the open door to the bedroom.
He felt a prickling sensation in the back of his neck. There, right inside the door, was the piano and the man playing it, exactly as she had described it, down to the unlit candles in the candle holders. He blinked and noticed how he could also clearly see the shape of Cecilia’s bed through the piano and the man. The melody being played was the same as the one he had heard through the phone, a lovely, little piece and now that he could hear it more clearly, it struck him as a bit sad.
The ghostly figure played for a couple of minutes and when the melody was at an end, it closed the lid on the piano carefully, stood up and … faded away.
He slowly tore his gaze away from the place where the ghost had been and saw Cecilia looking at him. Her expression wasn’t triumphant, but instead worried, even pleading. Like she was afraid, that he even now would deny the evidence of his own eyes.
“I’ll admit that I can’t explain what I just saw,” he said. “Not within the boundaries of existing science anyway. Maybe it’s a wormhole in time, but they are theoretical …” He was babbling, but that was okay. He saw her smile.
“You can explain it with science fiction if you want. As long as you don’t try to come up with a completely mundane explanation.”
“Well, I can’t, can I?”
“Did you also feel sorry for it?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t think about it. Though, now that you mention it, it was a sad melody.”
“In the stories, ghosts often stay behind because they have unfinished business. Do you think that is the case?”
Christoph thought about this for a moment, then said. “It plays the piano, and it is not a melody either of us recognise. Maybe it composed the music, but died before it could play it for anyone. Maybe it wants the the music to be known. Does that sound too far fetched?”
“Considering we’re dealing with a ghost here, ‘too far fetched’ can take a hike. I think it sounds reasonable enough. But if you’re right, then what can we do to help it?”
Christoph thought again. Getting the music published properly seemed impossible, but there was another possibility. “We could record it and post it on youtube,” he said.
Cecilia tilted her head, a puzzled look on her face.
“I mean, if the ghost just want its music to be known, “ he continued, “maybe getting a few thousand views will be enough. And if it turns out it is not, we can always think of something else.”
She nodded. “Yes, maybe it will be satisfied with that. We should try it.”

They were still hanging out in Cecilia’s apartment every evening. She had studied the dates that the ghost had appeared on, but hadn’t been able to work out a pattern, so they just had to wait. They had moved their chairs out into the hallway and had a camcorder on a tripod pointing at the door into the bedroom. The ghost had so far appeared at a quarter past midnight, so at fourteen minutes past midnight, Christoph would turn on the camcorder and they would wait with baited breath. The time until fourteen minutes past midnight they spent talking, but now Christoph was also absent-minded and always had one eye on the door.
Five days after they had first seen the ghost, Christoph once again turned on the camcorder and they waited. But this time, when a minute had past, the ghost appeared, faded into appearance along with the piano. They barely dared to breathe as the ghost began to play.
Seconds rolled by along with the lovely melody. Christoph was watching the recording and was glad to see, that they seemed to be getting a clear and sharp image – well, clear and sharp for a recording of something transparent – when he was stuck by the thought, that this was too boring. If they ever were to get people to watch this video, as was the point, they needed to make it more exciting. The needed to film the ghost’s face.
He got up and lifted the camcorder from the tripod. He saw Cecilia give him a confused look, then her expression changed to worry as she guessed what he was doing. She didn’t speak, so as not to ruin the recording; instead she tried to grab his arm, but he easily avoided her.
He had to time it just right. He remembered the melody and knew that it was coming to an end soon, so he couldn’t waste any time, but he wasn’t in a hurry either. He zoomed in on the back of the ghost’s head and started to move around it. This, he thought, would look so cool. He didn’t care if people thought is was a fake ghost, as long as they also thought that it was a cool shot.
He moved around the ghost, getting the side of its head in frame, inch by inch. He got a crawling sensation on the back of his neck. Something was off, but he didn’t know what. As he took another step to the side, he realised what was wrong. The ghost didn’t have a profile.
He looked through the viewfinder and a whimper escaped him. The ghost had no face. There was a black hole where the face should have been, a dark hole that seemed to go on forever.
At the sound of his whimper, the ghost stopped playing and turned its faceless head towards him. His horror must have been obvious for now he heard Cecilia whimper as well, but he was unable to turn and face her. He started going backwards, still holding the camcorder between himself and the ghost as if it was a sort of talisman. The ghost got up and the piano faded away, but the ghost remained. It reached out and tried to grab the camcorder. Christoph stepped backwards and into Cecilia’s bed. He tried to get around it, but the ghost had caught up with him. He struck out against it with the camcorder, but it grabbed it and wrestled it from him. It hands briefly touched his, the fingers cold and clammy.
Then the ghost held the camcorder and for a moment Christoph thought it would finally disappear. Instead, in turned the camcorder on him, and everything went dark.

When light returned, he was somewhere else. A dark room; or so he assumed since he couldn’t make out the walls or even the floor. He tried to get up and found that his hands didn’t touch anything. There wasn’t a floor at all. Yet, he didn’t have a feeling of falling either. He turned towards the light, a big square, like a TV screen. As he looked at it, he saw Cecilia’s face. It was huge, filled the whole screen. He could see that she had been crying, her eyes all red and puffy. He realized where he was. He was inside the camcorder; the ghost had caught him in here.
As he looked at Cecilia, she tried to smile and failed miserably. She placed a finger on the screen, a huge orange-pinkish circle and ran it down. As he was wondering what she was doing, she drew a ‘W’ and he realised that she was writing him a message. I W I L L G E T Y O U O U T. How, he thought, but he tried to smile back at her, without a doubt failing as badly as she had done, and waved a little. Then the light disappeared as she had apparently either turned of the camcorder or, perhaps more likely, placed it in its back to keep it safe.
He curled up in the darkness, unable to do anything except waiting. He tried to whisper her name, but there was no air and he didn’t make a sound. Instead he said it in his mind. “Cecilia.”

There was a moments silence after the Radioactive Moss Creature had ended its story.
Then someone asked: “But what happened afterwards?”
“Yes,” someone else said, “did she get him out or what?”
“What about the ghost?” a third person asked.
“I actually don’t know,” the Radioactive Moss Creature admitted. “I had to leave in a hurry and I never got to hear the rest of the story.”
A disappointed murmur followed these words, but the Radioactive Moss Creature turned to the person sitting next to it. “Now its your turn to tell a story,” it said.

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