collecting comment fic
But first -- I am going to need a beta soonish for my dsss (I know! early!), and I haven't made a dsss filter this year. Who is not participating in due South Sekrit Santa but potentially willing to read? (I say potentially because I don't want to give out identifying features, but I know that pairing/concept/rating may turn a "sure!" into an "er," and it is okay to say no after learning the details!)
Here are two of the filled prompts from my terrible horrible week. Reposting unlocked now, and on AO3 eventually.
Supernatural, Dean/Castiel, slashy gen, no warnings, early season 6
Prompt: 'Dean comforts Cas after his very bad day at work.' (not w/sexytiems. with donuts! and a warm bath! and peanut butter cups and thai food and a cuddly kitteh and fuzzy socks...i may be projecting here...)
"Nice of you to grace us with your presence," Dean said, but every nonverbal cue shouted annoyance rather than gratitude.
His patience well and truly taxed, Castiel reiterated the fact that surely ought to have sunk in by now. "There's a war in Heaven, Dean."
"People are dying, Cas."
"Angels are dying," he returned. Even from earth he could see the final silvern flash of angelic being spilling over the hands and blades of their brethren. Castiel had no business on earth when above his followers fought battles in which victory felt a lot like grief, and Dean kept bothering him with -- Castiel pushed aside an emotion closer to irritation than true wrath (and wondered, again, whether his repeated resurrections within the vessel that had been James Novak had somehow afflicted him with a touch of humanity). Dean was Dean, and Castiel had long since accepted that his priorities skewed towards the present and the visible. Castiel needed to return to the front, needed to win, because winning meant he'd been right, and in the absence of their Father, being right was the closest he would come to absolution for the light and lives that had spilled over his own hands. He had to focus, and Dean would continue to distract him with demanding prayers until he dealt with Dean's current problem.
So he dealt with it, and he left.
The next time he felt that persistent tug, he was in the middle of another discussion with Rachel about free will and the uses thereof. He'd come to appreciate obedience while actively engaged with Raphael's forces; however, Castiel would have appreciated having someone helping him plan those battles who understood that the best use of free will was not necessarily slavish devotion to guessing at the hidden divine will.
He nearly welcomed the distraction. "Dean Winchester is calling for me."
Rachel gave off a faint whiff of disapproval but didn't insist that he stay. Perhaps she found their discussions as taxing as he did.
Castiel was unsurprised to find Dean in a motel room in North Dakota, though he did not sense Sam (almost Sam, another failure that victory would have to atone for) in the immediate area. Unusual, since Dean tended to keep Sam even closer now that he knew Sam wasn't entirely whole. "Dean," he greeted.
"Is this a bad time?" Dean asked, then went on in a rush, "I mean, war in heaven, right, but can you stay for a few?"
Castiel wished, not for the first time, that his perception was not quite so limited in this vessel and tipped his head as though that would allow him to access different information than he already had: tense expression, rapid speech, center of gravity pushed forward, and hands that gripped one another tight. Perhaps Sam had gone missing.
"I can stay."
Dean relaxed, shifting back on his heels and releasing his hands. Castiel reassessed: whatever Dean wanted, Sam must be fine. "Great. Take a load off." He gestured towards the room's small table. Castiel frowned and wondered why Dean couldn't move the bags and boxes himself and where Dean wanted them moved to, if not on the table. "I mean, sit down." Dean sounded amused, as he generally did when Castiel fell afoul of the limitations of human language. He had... missed that actually. The angels on his side had begun to act as though he were infallible. He sat at the table, and Dean flashed a smile then sat in the other chair and pushed one of the bags closer to Castiel.
It appeared to contain hamburgers. He gave Dean a questioning look.
Dean, surprisingly, looked away.
"Dean?"
At a volume that a human might not have been able to hear, Dean muttered, "Of course we have to talk about it." He raised his eyes to meet Castiel's again. "Sam said I was being kind of a dick."
He decided it was wiser not to agree aloud.
He sighed. "I'm sorry."
Castiel examined the items on the table and realized that everything on it was a food or drink that he had expressed even a slight preference for during his period of falling: hamburgers, chocolate chip cookies, peanut butter cups, doughnuts, whiskey... Some, like the hamburgers, had been favorites of James Novak, but now that Castiel could see the gesture for what it was, even those seemed oddly touching. He inclined his head, then reached for a burger. "Thank you, Dean."
***
due South/Slings & Arrows, Geoffrey/Ellen, pre-Fraser/Kowalski, teen for make-outs but no warnings, set just prior to CotW and a year or two before THE Hamlet production
Prompt: Fraser and Geoffrey are distant cousins.
Ray was so stunned to see Fraser sweeping a woman into a passionate liplock right on the busy sidewalk that he overlooked everything else wrong with the picture. He was still staring when another Fraser stepped out of the building, spotted the kissing version, and shook his head ruefully. Ray briefly, ridiculously wondered whether they were cloning Frasers up in Canada, and if so, whether he could get one of his own. Then Fraser number two noticed him, and smiled and waved him over.
"Ray! What are you doing here?"
Not creepily hanging around the theater district, on the off chance he might run into Fraser just because he'd said something about going to see a play, that's for sure, because Ray was over his whole stalker phase. He shrugged. "I was in the area."
Fraser smiled at him as though Ray had given a real and good answer, and Ray found himself smiling back helplessly. After a moment, Fraser did a little blink-shake and turned to the still embracing couple. "Geoffrey. Geoffrey. Geoffrey."
Geoffrey made an irritated noise and flapped his hand in a clear 'go-away' gesture. The woman laughed, the sound smothered against the Fraser look-alike's mouth. Not that he was an exact look-alike -- for one thing, Geoffrey wore his hair longer, long enough to curl around the woman's fingers. And although Fraser didn't exactly blend in when he wore his usual red get-up, at least it was clearly a uniform, not ... whatever that was Geoffrey was wearing. Were those tights?
Fraser gave a small, put-upon sigh. "Ellen, I need to borrow your boyfriend for a moment."
Ellen pushed Geoffrey back to answer, amusement written all over her face as Geoffrey moved his attention to her neck. "Good luck with that. You know what he's like after a performance like that."
"And by 'like that,' you mean amazing, right? Did you hear that applause? We were amazing!" Geoffrey whooped and picked up Ellen, swinging them around in a circle, and Fraser stepped neatly out of the way of her kicking feet.
"Yes, you were wonderful," Fraser agreed, managing to sound both dry and sincere. Ray was impressed. "Now let me introduce you."
"A fan?" Geoffrey asked, letting Ellen slide back down to her feet. She grinned, keeping an arm looped around him, and Ray felt a pang, remembering what it was like to be young and in love -- though given the close resemblance to Fraser, Geoffrey couldn't be all that young. He glanced at Fraser, who maybe looked a bit wistful himself -- if Ray wasn't just seeing what he wanted to see.
"A friend. Geoffrey, this is Ray Vecchio, detective first grade with the Chicago police department. Ray, this is my third cousin once removed, Geoffrey Tennant."
"Please don't sing the Patty Duke theme," Geoffrey said, extending his hand to shake. "Believe me, we've heard it before."
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Here are two of the filled prompts from my terrible horrible week. Reposting unlocked now, and on AO3 eventually.
Supernatural, Dean/Castiel, slashy gen, no warnings, early season 6
Prompt: 'Dean comforts Cas after his very bad day at work.' (not w/sexytiems. with donuts! and a warm bath! and peanut butter cups and thai food and a cuddly kitteh and fuzzy socks...i may be projecting here...)
"Nice of you to grace us with your presence," Dean said, but every nonverbal cue shouted annoyance rather than gratitude.
His patience well and truly taxed, Castiel reiterated the fact that surely ought to have sunk in by now. "There's a war in Heaven, Dean."
"People are dying, Cas."
"Angels are dying," he returned. Even from earth he could see the final silvern flash of angelic being spilling over the hands and blades of their brethren. Castiel had no business on earth when above his followers fought battles in which victory felt a lot like grief, and Dean kept bothering him with -- Castiel pushed aside an emotion closer to irritation than true wrath (and wondered, again, whether his repeated resurrections within the vessel that had been James Novak had somehow afflicted him with a touch of humanity). Dean was Dean, and Castiel had long since accepted that his priorities skewed towards the present and the visible. Castiel needed to return to the front, needed to win, because winning meant he'd been right, and in the absence of their Father, being right was the closest he would come to absolution for the light and lives that had spilled over his own hands. He had to focus, and Dean would continue to distract him with demanding prayers until he dealt with Dean's current problem.
So he dealt with it, and he left.
The next time he felt that persistent tug, he was in the middle of another discussion with Rachel about free will and the uses thereof. He'd come to appreciate obedience while actively engaged with Raphael's forces; however, Castiel would have appreciated having someone helping him plan those battles who understood that the best use of free will was not necessarily slavish devotion to guessing at the hidden divine will.
He nearly welcomed the distraction. "Dean Winchester is calling for me."
Rachel gave off a faint whiff of disapproval but didn't insist that he stay. Perhaps she found their discussions as taxing as he did.
Castiel was unsurprised to find Dean in a motel room in North Dakota, though he did not sense Sam (almost Sam, another failure that victory would have to atone for) in the immediate area. Unusual, since Dean tended to keep Sam even closer now that he knew Sam wasn't entirely whole. "Dean," he greeted.
"Is this a bad time?" Dean asked, then went on in a rush, "I mean, war in heaven, right, but can you stay for a few?"
Castiel wished, not for the first time, that his perception was not quite so limited in this vessel and tipped his head as though that would allow him to access different information than he already had: tense expression, rapid speech, center of gravity pushed forward, and hands that gripped one another tight. Perhaps Sam had gone missing.
"I can stay."
Dean relaxed, shifting back on his heels and releasing his hands. Castiel reassessed: whatever Dean wanted, Sam must be fine. "Great. Take a load off." He gestured towards the room's small table. Castiel frowned and wondered why Dean couldn't move the bags and boxes himself and where Dean wanted them moved to, if not on the table. "I mean, sit down." Dean sounded amused, as he generally did when Castiel fell afoul of the limitations of human language. He had... missed that actually. The angels on his side had begun to act as though he were infallible. He sat at the table, and Dean flashed a smile then sat in the other chair and pushed one of the bags closer to Castiel.
It appeared to contain hamburgers. He gave Dean a questioning look.
Dean, surprisingly, looked away.
"Dean?"
At a volume that a human might not have been able to hear, Dean muttered, "Of course we have to talk about it." He raised his eyes to meet Castiel's again. "Sam said I was being kind of a dick."
He decided it was wiser not to agree aloud.
He sighed. "I'm sorry."
Castiel examined the items on the table and realized that everything on it was a food or drink that he had expressed even a slight preference for during his period of falling: hamburgers, chocolate chip cookies, peanut butter cups, doughnuts, whiskey... Some, like the hamburgers, had been favorites of James Novak, but now that Castiel could see the gesture for what it was, even those seemed oddly touching. He inclined his head, then reached for a burger. "Thank you, Dean."
***
due South/Slings & Arrows, Geoffrey/Ellen, pre-Fraser/Kowalski, teen for make-outs but no warnings, set just prior to CotW and a year or two before THE Hamlet production
Prompt: Fraser and Geoffrey are distant cousins.
Ray was so stunned to see Fraser sweeping a woman into a passionate liplock right on the busy sidewalk that he overlooked everything else wrong with the picture. He was still staring when another Fraser stepped out of the building, spotted the kissing version, and shook his head ruefully. Ray briefly, ridiculously wondered whether they were cloning Frasers up in Canada, and if so, whether he could get one of his own. Then Fraser number two noticed him, and smiled and waved him over.
"Ray! What are you doing here?"
Not creepily hanging around the theater district, on the off chance he might run into Fraser just because he'd said something about going to see a play, that's for sure, because Ray was over his whole stalker phase. He shrugged. "I was in the area."
Fraser smiled at him as though Ray had given a real and good answer, and Ray found himself smiling back helplessly. After a moment, Fraser did a little blink-shake and turned to the still embracing couple. "Geoffrey. Geoffrey. Geoffrey."
Geoffrey made an irritated noise and flapped his hand in a clear 'go-away' gesture. The woman laughed, the sound smothered against the Fraser look-alike's mouth. Not that he was an exact look-alike -- for one thing, Geoffrey wore his hair longer, long enough to curl around the woman's fingers. And although Fraser didn't exactly blend in when he wore his usual red get-up, at least it was clearly a uniform, not ... whatever that was Geoffrey was wearing. Were those tights?
Fraser gave a small, put-upon sigh. "Ellen, I need to borrow your boyfriend for a moment."
Ellen pushed Geoffrey back to answer, amusement written all over her face as Geoffrey moved his attention to her neck. "Good luck with that. You know what he's like after a performance like that."
"And by 'like that,' you mean amazing, right? Did you hear that applause? We were amazing!" Geoffrey whooped and picked up Ellen, swinging them around in a circle, and Fraser stepped neatly out of the way of her kicking feet.
"Yes, you were wonderful," Fraser agreed, managing to sound both dry and sincere. Ray was impressed. "Now let me introduce you."
"A fan?" Geoffrey asked, letting Ellen slide back down to her feet. She grinned, keeping an arm looped around him, and Ray felt a pang, remembering what it was like to be young and in love -- though given the close resemblance to Fraser, Geoffrey couldn't be all that young. He glanced at Fraser, who maybe looked a bit wistful himself -- if Ray wasn't just seeing what he wanted to see.
"A friend. Geoffrey, this is Ray Vecchio, detective first grade with the Chicago police department. Ray, this is my third cousin once removed, Geoffrey Tennant."
"Please don't sing the Patty Duke theme," Geoffrey said, extending his hand to shake. "Believe me, we've heard it before."
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