Sometimes he lies awake in their … his … their bed and remembers their very first date, from another lifetime, it seems; a stunning, enigmatic super spy and a talky computer nerd, chatting away, her smile wide and toothy, those pearly whites brightening up her entire face, her laughter loud and contagious, genuine. He thought it was real and unforced back then when he hardly knew a thing about her. Now, years later, he no longer thinks it was real. He knows it was. She might no longer remember every single detail about their long journey together and she may sometimes still look at him in wonder, as if trying to comprehend how exactly she got there, but the smile is back, or more precisely, it never really disappeared, the smile he is pretty sure she only ever used on him. She still laughs at (almost) all his jokes (even the less successful ones), her lips wide apart, the whiteness of her teeth nearly blinding and he knows she is still there. His Sarah is still there.

Altlivia: How do I know I can trust you?
Alt!Sarah: You don’t. But that’s the fun part.
Altlivia: My kind of girl.

Some nights he would lie quietly in his bed, pretending to be already asleep, waiting for the breathing from the adjacent bed to slow down, become more rhythmical and assure him he was as good as alone. He would then allow the heavy thoughts that had been piling up all day to lay their enormous weight on his weary mind. Sometimes he could even hear it - the sound of a long gone fire destroying everything in its way, the burnt wood cracking frantically, the screams of a confused, violently woken up baby. His baby brother. He could almost feel the unbearable heat on his face once again - just like he did that night many years ago when he carried his brother out of the burning apartment, his clothes all soaked with smoke, fear cutting through his bones. Not fear for himself, but for the trembling bundle of clothes in his shaky arms. He would try to forcefully close his eyes and chase those unsettling images away, but instead of complete darkness, he would be greeted with even more vivid pictures, fire and cries even more real, sweat breaking out all over his body, terror nearly palpable. He would cast a quick glance towards the bed next to his, an almost manic look on his face. He would listen intently for a few seconds, trying to convince himself that this sudden silence was completely normal and that there was nothing to panic about. But he would get up just in case, walk over to the other bed and lean over the still body, staring down at the serene expression on his brother’s oblivious face. He would then notice an almost imperceptible movement of his nostrils and a sudden wave of relief would wash over him. His lips would curve into a small smile as he would tell himself he was being silly and that no harm could ever come to his brother while he was around. That fire was years away and that small whimpering child was now a fully grown man who did not need to be saved or carried in anyone’s arms. But he was there, just the same, right by his side, still watching over him like he had done all their lives and it somehow made everything better. At least for a little while.

Dean: Colt?
Mal: Nope, a Moses Brothers Self-Defense Engine Frontier Model B. I know, shiny.
Dean: No, I mean, you’re Colt? Samuel Colt, the gunmaker?
Mal: Guay, boy, how much did ya have to drink? I ain’t been to many schools in total but even I know that’s ancient history.
Dean: Wait, what? You’re telling me this isn’t 1861?
Mal: 186-? Gorramit, seems like you’re a mite confused. Try 2501.
Dean: Damn it, Cas.

James: Hey Lily, I was waiting for you outside your Arithmancy class and when the last person had come out and it wasn’t you, I went straight to Slughorn’s dungeons ‘cause I figured you’d be there, I know how much you love helping him mix all those freaky potions whenever you get the chance, only you weren’t there either so I came to the Comm- hey, hey, what’s wrong?

Lily: Oh, n- nothing.

James: You wouldn’t miss a class - even a nonsensical one like Arithmancy - for ‘nothing’. What happened?

Lily: It’s - it’s stupid really. I should’ve known. I mean, it’s been like this for years now. I honestly don’t know why I thought it’d be any different this time.

James: Lily, I love you but please try using a noun here and there instead of pronouns, I’m really not following you.

Lily: I sent her - I mean, my sister, Petunia - a present. It was her birthday last week and I know we hadn’t spoken in a while, in a long while, but I - I guess I thought it wouldn’t hurt to - oh, stupid, stupid, so stupid.

James: You are not stupid, Lily. Stubborn and intimidating at times, kind and brave, yes, I agree. But never stupid. So stop saying that. Not many people would’ve had the courage to do what you did. I mean, just look at Sirius and Regulus. So I take it she didn’t like it? The present?

Lily: She - she - she returned it. Unopened. And that’s not all. The card. She - I - you take it, I can’t say it out loud.

James nods silently and takes the present out of Lily’s hands. The box looks carefully wrapped in one of those magical papers sprinkled with glitter that, if you look closely enough, you will notice glistens and actually moves. He takes the card and starts reading:

“Dear Tuny,

I know we haven’t exactly been the best of friends, but that doesn’t mean I’ll ever be able to forget your birthday. After all, when we were little, you always used to make me repeat the date out loud months before just to make sure I’d have a present at the ready when the day actually came. So I hope you’ll accept this little something (yes, it does have something to do with that other something you used to have years ago, in case you’re wondering … okay, that’s a lot of somethings in one sentence) and that your day will indeed be wonderful.

Your loving sister,

L.”

James finishes reading the original card, a small smile on his face that says: “That’s my girl!” and notices there is something else written underneath in a completely different handwriting, the letters noticeably more even and somehow sterner. James gulps as he reads the only six words the text contains:

“I DO NOT HAVE A SISTER.”

Hmm, I wonder if that non-alcoholic butterbeer icecream would go well with these pickles, I could throw everything into one large bowl, after I finish baking these cookies of course, oh but I will definitely be hungry afterwards and - uh oh - this isn’t what I think it is, is it, but it must be, oh no, it’s coming - JAAAAAMEEEEESSSSS!

Doctor! Doctor! Can you hear me?

What the … Blimey! Martha Jones, is that you? Wait, how d’you know it was m-?

I don’t have time to explain. Doctor, listen, I - I’m trapped, I don’t know what happened, there are some people here, at least I think they’re people and I’m unarmed and -

Hang on, Jones, I’m coming!

Olivia: If we’re going to do this, you’re gonna have to start trusting me.

Alt!Livia: What makes you think I don’t already?

Olivia: Come on, we can’t be that different.