Commentfic dump (42 words & one-sentence, +3)
Merlin, Merlin/Arthur, lightning
White light forks against a black sky, and Arthur's chest rises and falls six times before the low rumble of thunder rolls across them. The storm breaks, rain cascading down and washing the blood from Merlin's hands. "Not dying today," he mutters.
Supernatural, Dean/Castiel + Sam, when Dean said he was going to teach Cas how to fix the Impala, that is exactly what Sam expected them to go off and do. He was wrong.
When he gets back to Bobby's, the Impala is just as beat up as it was this morning. "So what have you two been up to all day?"
Cas's eyes are glued to the screen. Dean is definitely not shamefaced.
"Penguins of Madagascar marathon?"
Supernatural, Sam, relapse
He won't admit how much he craves it, when his throat is dry and all he wants is thick, tangy, red and all he has is thin, tasteless, colorless. Sometimes Dean looks at him sideways, and Sam has to wonder if it shows.
Animorphs, Jake + Rachel, nothing to forgive
When he dies, the first thing he sees is a halo of blonde hair; his mouth tries to form the words I'm sorry but she hugs him and he realizes he never needed to say it at all.
Supernatural, Dean (s2 finale), father's son
Sam's blood falls from Dean's fingers in dry pink flakes and he stares at the body, then goes out to the garage to find a shovel and a can of spraypaint: it's his turn.
Supernatural, Castiel (s7), endings
This is a fitting end, he thinks, cold water swirling around him but it's the blackness that's choking him, This is where I stop; then he wakes up and remembers.
***
Fandom: Animorphs
Characters: possibly Marco
Spoilers: #54
Rating: PG
Prompt: any, any, I got up and dialed your number / Your voice came on the line / That old familiar message / I have heard a thousand times / It just said, sorry that I missed you / Leave a message and god bless / I know that you think I am crazy / But I just had to hear your voice I guess
I don't think her family realize that her phone line is still connected, her answering machine message still going around on its little turning reel like a fragment of her is stuck on a broken record. I don't think anyone goes into her room anymore.
If they did, they'd probably see twenty or more messages, wordless, seconds long. On one of them there might be the sound of someone crying, but I'll swear to my dying day that it's not me.
Hey, you've reached Rachel. If you're hearing this, either I'll get back to you or this is your one and only warning to get lost. If you're still here, leave a message.
There's a tone, long and low, and I close my eyes and imagine it's the sound of her picking up. But on the other end there's only silence, and I hang up.
*
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean/Lisa, Ben
Setting: post-s5, but no spoilers
Rating: G
Prompt: SPN, Dean, Dean learns he actually is Ben's father
The wind bites at their cheeks and dark clouds hang ominously across the horizon. Out on the field, boys in yellow shirts stand around and wait.
"There's something I should probably tell you," Lisa says, as the first red-jerseyed batter strikes out.
"Yeah?" Dean maybe doesn't have much of a resume in the long-term relationship department, but he's been around people enough to know that tone.
"I didn't really have a paternity test done when he was a baby." On the field, the second batter walks. "But I had one done last month, and the results came back yesterday."
Ben's turn. Bat in hand, he takes a stance over the plate.
"Dean, you're his father."
Dean grins as the ball soars over the fence. "Yeah," he says. "I am." He takes her hand and pulls her to her feet to cheer.
*
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean, John, Mary, Cas
Rating: PG
Prompt: Supernatural, Priest!Dean/Castiel, Dean is a priest Castiel has been sent to warn of the impending apocalypse.
Note: I am a good Jewish girl and know next to nothing about how Christian clergyhood works.
When he was a child, a blue-eyed angel stood watch over his crib.
It was cheap plastic, painted white with tiny gray-edged wings and eyes as blue as the sky he had believed it used to fly through. He lost it in a fire when he was four, and somehow the half-forgotten toy stood for everything else he lost that night: a home, and a brother, and the love of two parents who never really looked directly at him again.
There was a church down the street from the new house, and some afternoons when Mom cried over singed photo albums and Dad glowered over the rim of a bottle he would slip out the back door and go find Father Robert, a kindly old priest who always had time for a snack and a story and a lonely little boy.
Dean is a little older now, with his own priestly robes (often forgotten, much to the displeasure of the senior priests) and the Good Book tucked under his arm, and a man with blue eyes is waiting for him when he leaves the pulpit.
"Brother Dean," the man says, and Dean notes with some surprise that his expression hardly seems to change at all. "My name is Castiel."
"Castiel," he repeats, the name falling smoothly from his tongue. "The Angel of Thursday, right?"
"Yes." Castiel seems pleased. "I have a message for you."
Dean smiles. "Shoot."
Castiel looks momentarily confused but presses onwards. His tone is flat, rehearsed, as if he's repeating someone else's words verbatim. "The Apocalypse is nigh. You must be prepared." In a tone only slightly less emotionless, he adds, "I assure you, I am not a madman."
Dean doesn't think Castiel is a madman. Maybe it makes him crazy, but he is fully prepared to believe that this man is a Messenger of God -- the blue of his eyes told him that.