Commentfic dump (Good Omens, SPN, Firefly, Doctor Who, Harry Potter, Once Upon A Time, Animorphs)
Fandom: Good Omens
Characters: Crowley, Aziraphale
Rating: G
Prompt: 100 words: Good Omens, Crowley/Aziraphale, marmalade
"Crowley." The angel's voice was taut with all the self-restraining anger such a being could muster. "Come here for a moment, please."
Ah, thought Crowley with some small amount of anxiety. He's found the comic books, then.
"What is this," Aziraphale said, very slowly, "doing in my shop."
"Seems like it's not doing much of anything at the moment, angel."
"It's marmalade." Aziraphale pointed. "Marmalade. In my shop."
"Yes," Crowley said, equally slowly. It seemed the thing to do. "So I see. Is that all?"
"Get that hellish creation away from my books." He seemed to remember his manners. "Please."
*
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: 2014!Jo, 2014!Claire Novak, 2014!Dean, 2014!Cas, Risa
Spoilers: 5.04 "The End"
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: Supernatural, 2014!verse Claire/Jo, hunting lessons during the apocalypse.
There's a pack of Croats with a girl cornered in an alley and Jo doesn't have to think twice. She's almost out of ammo, but there's got to be an abandoned gun store around somewhere and she's sure she can find more.
She has to admit, though, the kid can hold her own. The clumsily-weilded kitchen knife skids away quickly, but she's throwing punches with some skill and she's not down yet. Jo is impressed.
"I can teach you how to use that," she says when they're done, and hands the knife back to its owner. "If you like."
The kid blows a lock of blonde hair out of her face. "Not a Croat, are you?"
Jo puts hands on hips. "Do I look like a Croat to you?"
The kid shrugs, grins. "Just checking."
--
In a month, Claire's learned how to use a knife, shotgun, handgun, rifle, and her own size and speed to win out against just about anyone, Croat or otherwise. She still needs practice, but Jo looks pleased.
"We've gotta go meet some friends of mine," Jo says one morning. They're squatting in an old warehouse that's nicer than some of the places Claire's been. The windows are smashed, and the sunlight makes Jo's hair glow.
"Is that why we're in Kansas City?" Claire tears open their all-too-nutritious breakfast of a cold poptart and breaks it in half to share.
"Yeah." Jo slings her pack over one shoulder. "Come on, we'll eat on the road."
-
Claire freezes at the gun barrel pressed to the small of her back.
"Name and business," someone says flatly. "Don't turn around."
"Jo Harvelle," Jo says, in Claire's opinion far too calmly. "I'm a friend of Dean Winchester's."
"Jo?" Claire knows that voice, and it makes her skin crawl. "Risa, Leo, put it away." The gun is lifted from her back and she turns around to see a man and woman back away suspiciously, guns angled slightly towards the ground.
Dean Winchester looks exactly the same as he did five years ago, except maybe for the eyes. He tries to smile at Jo, but it looks like he's out of practice at it. "What are you doing here?" His gaze slides right over Claire.
"I heard your broadcast," Jo says. "Parts of it, anyway. My radio's been on the fritz."
"I'll take a look when I get a chance." Dean looks sideways at her. Claire is trailing behind them, but she can feel Risa and Leo's eyes on her back.
"Ellen's not with you?" Dean says. Claire doesn't know who Ellen is, but Jo's stride falters. Dean doesn't seem to notice.
"Seattle. Last year." Jo's whiteknuckling her rifle; Claire wonders if she's conscious of it.
"Sorry."
Jo gives something midway between a smile and a grimace. "We're in the fucking apocalypse, Dean. No time for sorry."
He looks at her a little sadly, Claire thinks, and she wonders how they knew each other.
-
The camp is what's to be expected from a post-apocalyptic resistance base. Fences, guns, cabins, jeeps.
"Got any ammo you could spare?" Jo asks once they're in the gate. "I'm almost out."
"Arms're in there," Dean says, pointing to one of the cabins. There's a man with his cap pulled low over his eyes sitting on a chair outside the door. Despite the rifle propped against his shoulder, he could almost be asleep, but somehow Claire doubts that he is.
"Here, Claire." Jo hands off her pack, and Claire passes over her handgun in return. Unease passes over Claire the moment Jo is out of reach, but she's not quite sure which of them she's worried about.
"Dean." A man appears at Dean's shoulder and Claire's breath catches in her throat. His eyes are glazed, his hair unkempt and flat. Claire feels something twist deep inside her.
Something finally seems to click in Dean's brain. Maybe it was her name and maybe it was Castiel, but in any other situation the look he's giving her would be priceless.
"Shit," he says.
Claire prays -- no, hopes; prayer is a relic of a long-gone past -- that her father has already left that body. If he knew what the angel was doing to it, it would kill him.
Holy, her ass.
"That one," she says to Dean, but points at Castiel. "Keep him the fuck away from me." She turns heel and goes to find Jo.
*
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Gabriel, Michael, Lucifer, God, all angels
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None, total wish fulfillment
Prompt: Supernatural, Gabriel, “It seems that all my bridges have been burned,But you say that’s exactly how this grace thing works. It’s not the long walk home that will change this heart, but the welcome I receive with the restart.”
It's over.
There was flame, and blood, and so much loss, but it's over.
And in the middle of it, Lucifer and Michael stumble out of the wreckage, ragged and bloody, so weakened that they can't even heal their vessels -- but alive.
(See?) their Father says. (I knew you boys would work it out in the end.)
And there is Raphael, to heal their wounds; there is Castiel, with his human charges. There is Anael, her Free Will intact; Uriel, Zachariah, Balthazar; Joshua with his knowing smile. They gather in their ranks, in their rows, Graces shining bright as the day of Creation, and there is only one empty place.
"Come out, little brother," Lucifer calls.
"You are welcome to your place," Michael adds.
Gabriel flickers into view before them. "You see, Lucifer, I didn't learn all my tricks from you."
God smiles as the final angel takes his place. Family, after all, is what it's always been about.
*
Title: By the Sweat Of Your Brow
Characters: Simon, Mal, crew
Spoilers: post-BDM but no direct spoilers
Rating: PG
Prompt: Firefly, Simon, pandemic
Kaylee is the first to drop, found sweating and choking on the engine room floor. She's rushed to the med bay and Simon takes deep breaths and tries to think like she's any other patient. He turns her on her side to stop the choking and layers her with blankets to break the fever but nothing helps.
Then Inara collapses halfway through dinner, gasping for air, with skin like hot coals, but it's not until Zoe lurches into the medbay at three in morning with a fever of 106 that Mal checks the Cortex for any news of an outbreak.
"There's quarantine on Ajax," he tells Simon quietly after the rest of the crew's returned to their bunks with grim mouths and anxious eyes. "Outbreak'a somethin' called Vesta fever started in the same town we just turned tailside. You ever hear of it?"
"I've heard of it," Simon says, holding his voice steady with some difficulty. "I never thought I'd see it." He breathes in one, two, three; lets it out and tries to think emotionlessly, professionally, the way he was trained. "We're under quarantine, Captain, the whole ship. We can't land, dock, or orbit. As little interaction with each other as possible. River is confined to her room."
"Why your sister?" Mal asks. "Ain't she in as much danger as the rest of us?"
"It's called Vesta's fever for a reason. Vesta was a Roman goddess. When this illness hits a town, the women are always the first to fall."
"You're sayin' only womanfolk get sick by this?"
Simon's mouth twists in a grim parody of a smile. "I said first to fall, Captain, not the only. The incubation period is different in males and females. In females, symptoms appear within hours. The fever can last a week or more. I'd put their chances of survival at sixty or seventy percent."
"I ain't a genius at figures, but that don't seem half bad."
Shaking his head, Simon continues. "In males, symptoms don't appear for days. That's usually how the disease spreads, in men who don't realize they're carrying it. But when the fever hits it's, it's bad. Chances of survival for a healthy man, maybe thirty percent."
"Ain't there a cure, some fancy-pants meds Alliance sells for an arm 'n a leg?" Mal is more worried than Simon's ever seen him. Simon's more worried than he's ever seen himself.
"I'm afraid not."
Mal puts his head in his hands, and Simon looks away and pretends not to see.
*
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Gabriel, Castiel
Rating: G
Prompt: Supernatural, Castiel + Gabriel, When they were put into the same room in the ward the first word he spoke was "brother" - that sounded right but neither of them could remember why.
The first thing he sees is white sheets and tousled dark hair.
"Jimmy," the nurse says loudly, gently, and the hair moves. "Jimmy, this is your new roommate, Gabe." Her hand at the small of his back, she gives Gabe a small push in the right direction. He stumbles with all the grace of a drunken tomcat and quickly rights himself. It's very important that he stand up straight; he just wishes he could remember why.
"You two get along, won't you?" the nurse says, and Gabe hears the door close and lock behind him. He stays where he is, frozen. There's no reason to move.
The hair in the bed stirs again and then lifts from the pillow, giving Gabe a better view of the person it's attached to. "Hello," it says. The hair tips to one side, pulling the head with it. "Brother."
Gabe blinks. He knows this man is not his physiological brother; the nurses and doctors with all their tests and poking would have noticed that. He's not religious enough to go around calling everyone his brothers and sisters, though he feels as if he may have been, once. And yet this man he doesn't know is undeniably his brother, in some vitally important way that he can't quite grasp.
He nods. "Brother," he echoes, and feels as if he's one tiny step closer to the truth.
*
Title: you can never go home again
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: Doctor
Rating: PG
Prompt: Doctor Who; Doctor; he's beginning to forget what life was like on Gallifrey.
Memories of his old school uniform are the first things to fade. He realizes one day that he can no longer remember the feeling of the heavy folds, thick cloth soft against his skin. The high collar chafing on his neck, the hemline swishing about his ankles. He'd always hated that old thing, but in losing it he finds that he also loses his grip on other memories, more important ones.
The precise shade of the sky; the feeling of red grass tickling at the back of his neck when the boys were daring and bold and took off their collars when no one was looking. Bright double sunsets and the sound of laughter echoing off the hills. Cool glass against the skin of his palms when he peeked curiously into the citadel as a child; the same glass against his hands when he gazed longingly out again as an adult.
Sprinting down the halls of the museum, running and running and running; he'll never stop. Large bright labels, Type Twelve and Type Twenty-Two and Type Forty. He pauses, and the door falls open under his hand. It's the only memory that's never faded, still as fresh and vivid as if it occurred only seconds ago. (He has a feeling that She has a hand in that.)
*
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Dean Thomas
Spoilers: minor for DH
Rating: PG
Prompt: any, any, ink draws beautiful things, or destroys with ugly stains
He's been working on this for weeks now. He stole the paper and ink from the Muggle shop they stopped at for supplies, but the battered old quill was in his pocket when he started running.
It's a drawing of the DA. He closes his eyes and he can still see them, Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. Every face, tired, angry, but briefly relieved of their bitterness. They smile in his head.
The scraping of the quill nib against the paper is a familiar noise, rhythmic and comforting against the strange sounds of the forest or field or riverbank that they've stopped at for the night. The ink glistens on the page as he sketches in eyes, noses, ears, hair. He adds a fold to Lavender's skirt and puts down the quill.
They have no mouths. He sees their smiles in his head, but there are no smiles here. He's worried that if he draws them wrong they'll be gone forever.
He breathes in, slowly, picks up the quill. Seamus stands in the foreground, eyes crinkled in laughter. Very carefully, Dean shapes the darkness of the mouth, gives shadow to the edges of the teeth, shades in the thin upper lip. He molds a smile out of ink and feels a weight he hadn't noticed vanish from his chest.
Ted rolls over in his sleep, flings his arm out and narrowly misses the lantern. The ink bottle tumbles, almost in slow motion, and Seamus and the others vanish in a cloud of inky darkness. Dean lies down, rests his forehead on his arms and says nothing.
*
Title: clear skies
Fandom: Animorphs
Characters: Cassie, Ax, Marco, Rachel, Jake, Tobias
Spoilers: full series
Rating: PG
Prompt: Animorphs, any, for a moment the sky is clear
Cassie
One thing that anyone who has ever ridden a horse has tried to explain is that there is nothing like the feeling of such a powerful beauty raising you up, hurtling at unknown speeds, a mass of muscle and bone and sinew stretching and jumping and you can feel the joy in it, in its freedom.
This is better.
You run and you gallop and there is sun on your back and yes, yesterday you killed, you ended the life of a living creature with teeth and claws, and you will never let go of that. But just now, just for a moment, the sky is clear.
-
Ax
You spiral towards the blue-green planet below you, so alien and unknown, and gravity pulls you in slowly.
And then you hit atmosphere, and everything is a raging inferno, flame licking at the glass. You know that it can't touch you, you know the Dome was built exactly for this, but you are three hooves deep in the pond before the irrational fear lets up. You will never admit it, but you are still trembling.
And now you are falling, captured by gravity, hurtling towards the glittering blue expanse below. You catch a glimpse of a beautiful blue sky above you before you hit, and you think that if you'd had the chance, you really could have liked this planet.
-
Marco
She's alive.
The thrill those two words send through you, it's a shiver down your spine, a tingling in your fingertips. You think, for a moment, that this war is worth it. You think, for a moment, that you will take her hand and bring her home, and your father will smile, and everything will go back to the way it was. You think, for a moment, that the clouds have finally gone away.
(In a moment, the world will come crashing down around your feet again, because none of this is true. But the moment is worth it, all the same.)
-
Rachel
There is something dark inside of you, clawing to get out. It hangs over your head, black and foreboding, making you snap, making you angry, making you want to tear out the throat of that kid who got in your way in the hall. You wonder how long it will be before someone notices and sends you to anger management.
But some nights you are not you, you are a bear or an elephant or a wolf, and you can tear and rage and stamp and claw. The dark thing jumps, escapes, guides your teeth and claws and tusks. It wants blood, hot and red and slick. You just want clear air above your head, if only for a moment.
-
Jake
You are starting to fall apart.
You've been past your limit for so long now, holding yourself together by sheer force of will. You are not a leader, not a general. You are a child lost in the bloody mist of war.
And then, like a bright beacon of light beckoning in the fog, you have a plan. It is a cruel plan, a ruthless plan. It will cost so many lives. But for a moment the sky is clear; you know your way out.
You will not be lost again.
-
Tobias
You fly, because you are a hawk.
The sky is blue and clear and empty. Your belly is full, your territory secured. And perhaps the hawk is not happy, because hawks don't feel happiness. But there is contentment, and that's good enough.
*
Fandom: Once Upon A Time
Characters: Regina, Snow
Rating: PG
Prompt: The thunder rolls / And the lightnin' strikes / Another love grows cold / On a sleepless night / As the storm blows on / Out of control / Deep in her heart / The thunder rolls
Marriage is not what she was told it would be. It was a fairy tale wedding, of course, between a beautiful bride and a good, rich king, as all fairy tales end.
But there was no joy in her heart, that day or any after. She slept in his chambers for three nights before she couldn't bear it any longer and demanded her own room.
It was kept quiet. The shame of a king and his bride sleeping in different parts of the palace wouldn't have reflected well.
Her new chambers, however, are right beside the child's.
The king had all good intentions in placing her there, of course. No one knows the hatred that's settled in her breast like a raven building its roost.
Sometimes she will slip out of her chambers, dressing gown loose on her shoulders, and watch the sleeping face of a child who never knew what she was doing. Sometimes the thought will flicker across her mind, just briefly, a lightning flash lighting up the dark: Perhaps this child doesn't deserve the hatred. Perhaps she deserves a mother.
But then a rumble, long and low, to chase it as thunder always chases lightning: She killed him.
The guards that see her as she sweeps back into her room nod and smile between themselves. A good wife, they tell each other, echoing whispers down long dark halls, a good mother who only wants to know that her daughter is safe.
They don't realize how close she comes to killing the child where she sleeps, sometimes, but the innocence on that snow white face always stays her hand. One day, she knows, it will not be enough.
*
Fandom: Animorphs
Characters: Jake, Marco
Spoilers: full series
Rating: PG
Prompt: Animorphs, Marco & Jake, If I go crazy, then will you still call me Superman?/If I'm alive and well, will you be there holding my hand? [3 Doors Down, "Kryptonite"]
Marco was, surprisingly, tactful enough to wait until my mouth had morphed from beak to lips before he said anything.
"Nice of you to drop by, Jake," he said, waving a half-glass of some sort of beverage in my direction. The drink wasn't all that was icy. "Pull up a deck chair, if you've got time to chat."
"Are you angry?" Uneasily, I sat sideways on the nearest deck chair.
"Why would I be? I mean you don't call, you don't write . . . But nah. I get it, you're the broody war hero who never leaves his house, right? Old friends, who needs 'em."
I skimmed my gaze across the glittering blue surface of the Olympic-sized pool. "Sorry."
"Yeah, well." Marco took a long pull at his crazystraw. "I don't blame you for staying indoors. Paparazzi's a bitch."
"Yeah, people following you around all day taking your picture? You must hate that."
"Hey, it's hard to look this good 24/7. A guy's gotta have a break every once in a while."
I snorted and finally leaned back in the deck chair, more relaxed than I'd been in months. "Don't know how you stand it. You're crazy, man."
He sputtered in disbelief. "I'm crazy? I'm crazy? Look at this place!" Righteous indignation on his face, he waved a hand wildly towards his house, if you could call it that. "I've got a freaking mansion! Hot chicks fawning over me, people cleaning up after me -- and I'm just the sidekick! You're the action hero, Jake, you're like -- Superman after everyone knows his secret identity, or something. Any reporter worth his nuts would practically explode for the chance at an exclusive interview with Patton Mark Two."
I didn't say anything for a moment. Then, "Superman, Marco? Really? Couldn't I at least be someone cool, like Batman?"
"Wetherbee!" Marco yelled. "Three more drinks. I need an extra to dump over this moron's head. The Man of Steel would slaughter some guy in a mask."
"An alien versus a human with cool technology? I don't know, we never did so bad." A smile twitched at the corner of my mouth. Even when everything else did, some things never changed.
*
Fandom: Animorphs
Characters: Jordan, Sara
Spoilers: full series
Rating: PG
Prompt: Animorphs, Rachel's family, it'll be all right
The Hork-Bajir valley looked bigger when it was empty. The few Hork-Bajir that remained -- the very old and very young, those who couldn't fight -- even they seemed to know something was happening. They stood quietly and watched the smoke slowly rising over the trees.
"Jordan," Sara whispered quietly into the still air. I felt her small fingers tap at my clenched fist and I opened it so that she could wriggle her own hand through mine. Our mother was near the treeline -- as near as she dared with the traps that had been set up on the perimeter of the valley -- and she was pacing restlessly. The others' parents -- Michelle and Walter, Peter and Eva, Loren and her dog, Champ -- stood quietly. Peter and Eva had their arms around each other's shoulders. Champ lay quietly at his mistress's feet.
I squeezed Sara's hand. Minutes dragged by like hours. Even the forest was silent.
"It'll be all right, Sara," I said quietly, because someone had to. The adults didn't react, but I knew my voice had carried. Someone had to say what no one really believed. "It'll all be okay. I promise."
Characters: Crowley, Aziraphale
Rating: G
Prompt: 100 words: Good Omens, Crowley/Aziraphale, marmalade
"Crowley." The angel's voice was taut with all the self-restraining anger such a being could muster. "Come here for a moment, please."
Ah, thought Crowley with some small amount of anxiety. He's found the comic books, then.
"What is this," Aziraphale said, very slowly, "doing in my shop."
"Seems like it's not doing much of anything at the moment, angel."
"It's marmalade." Aziraphale pointed. "Marmalade. In my shop."
"Yes," Crowley said, equally slowly. It seemed the thing to do. "So I see. Is that all?"
"Get that hellish creation away from my books." He seemed to remember his manners. "Please."
*
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: 2014!Jo, 2014!Claire Novak, 2014!Dean, 2014!Cas, Risa
Spoilers: 5.04 "The End"
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: Supernatural, 2014!verse Claire/Jo, hunting lessons during the apocalypse.
There's a pack of Croats with a girl cornered in an alley and Jo doesn't have to think twice. She's almost out of ammo, but there's got to be an abandoned gun store around somewhere and she's sure she can find more.
She has to admit, though, the kid can hold her own. The clumsily-weilded kitchen knife skids away quickly, but she's throwing punches with some skill and she's not down yet. Jo is impressed.
"I can teach you how to use that," she says when they're done, and hands the knife back to its owner. "If you like."
The kid blows a lock of blonde hair out of her face. "Not a Croat, are you?"
Jo puts hands on hips. "Do I look like a Croat to you?"
The kid shrugs, grins. "Just checking."
--
In a month, Claire's learned how to use a knife, shotgun, handgun, rifle, and her own size and speed to win out against just about anyone, Croat or otherwise. She still needs practice, but Jo looks pleased.
"We've gotta go meet some friends of mine," Jo says one morning. They're squatting in an old warehouse that's nicer than some of the places Claire's been. The windows are smashed, and the sunlight makes Jo's hair glow.
"Is that why we're in Kansas City?" Claire tears open their all-too-nutritious breakfast of a cold poptart and breaks it in half to share.
"Yeah." Jo slings her pack over one shoulder. "Come on, we'll eat on the road."
-
Claire freezes at the gun barrel pressed to the small of her back.
"Name and business," someone says flatly. "Don't turn around."
"Jo Harvelle," Jo says, in Claire's opinion far too calmly. "I'm a friend of Dean Winchester's."
"Jo?" Claire knows that voice, and it makes her skin crawl. "Risa, Leo, put it away." The gun is lifted from her back and she turns around to see a man and woman back away suspiciously, guns angled slightly towards the ground.
Dean Winchester looks exactly the same as he did five years ago, except maybe for the eyes. He tries to smile at Jo, but it looks like he's out of practice at it. "What are you doing here?" His gaze slides right over Claire.
"I heard your broadcast," Jo says. "Parts of it, anyway. My radio's been on the fritz."
"I'll take a look when I get a chance." Dean looks sideways at her. Claire is trailing behind them, but she can feel Risa and Leo's eyes on her back.
"Ellen's not with you?" Dean says. Claire doesn't know who Ellen is, but Jo's stride falters. Dean doesn't seem to notice.
"Seattle. Last year." Jo's whiteknuckling her rifle; Claire wonders if she's conscious of it.
"Sorry."
Jo gives something midway between a smile and a grimace. "We're in the fucking apocalypse, Dean. No time for sorry."
He looks at her a little sadly, Claire thinks, and she wonders how they knew each other.
-
The camp is what's to be expected from a post-apocalyptic resistance base. Fences, guns, cabins, jeeps.
"Got any ammo you could spare?" Jo asks once they're in the gate. "I'm almost out."
"Arms're in there," Dean says, pointing to one of the cabins. There's a man with his cap pulled low over his eyes sitting on a chair outside the door. Despite the rifle propped against his shoulder, he could almost be asleep, but somehow Claire doubts that he is.
"Here, Claire." Jo hands off her pack, and Claire passes over her handgun in return. Unease passes over Claire the moment Jo is out of reach, but she's not quite sure which of them she's worried about.
"Dean." A man appears at Dean's shoulder and Claire's breath catches in her throat. His eyes are glazed, his hair unkempt and flat. Claire feels something twist deep inside her.
Something finally seems to click in Dean's brain. Maybe it was her name and maybe it was Castiel, but in any other situation the look he's giving her would be priceless.
"Shit," he says.
Claire prays -- no, hopes; prayer is a relic of a long-gone past -- that her father has already left that body. If he knew what the angel was doing to it, it would kill him.
Holy, her ass.
"That one," she says to Dean, but points at Castiel. "Keep him the fuck away from me." She turns heel and goes to find Jo.
*
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Gabriel, Michael, Lucifer, God, all angels
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None, total wish fulfillment
Prompt: Supernatural, Gabriel, “It seems that all my bridges have been burned,But you say that’s exactly how this grace thing works. It’s not the long walk home that will change this heart, but the welcome I receive with the restart.”
It's over.
There was flame, and blood, and so much loss, but it's over.
And in the middle of it, Lucifer and Michael stumble out of the wreckage, ragged and bloody, so weakened that they can't even heal their vessels -- but alive.
(See?) their Father says. (I knew you boys would work it out in the end.)
And there is Raphael, to heal their wounds; there is Castiel, with his human charges. There is Anael, her Free Will intact; Uriel, Zachariah, Balthazar; Joshua with his knowing smile. They gather in their ranks, in their rows, Graces shining bright as the day of Creation, and there is only one empty place.
"Come out, little brother," Lucifer calls.
"You are welcome to your place," Michael adds.
Gabriel flickers into view before them. "You see, Lucifer, I didn't learn all my tricks from you."
God smiles as the final angel takes his place. Family, after all, is what it's always been about.
*
Title: By the Sweat Of Your Brow
Characters: Simon, Mal, crew
Spoilers: post-BDM but no direct spoilers
Rating: PG
Prompt: Firefly, Simon, pandemic
Kaylee is the first to drop, found sweating and choking on the engine room floor. She's rushed to the med bay and Simon takes deep breaths and tries to think like she's any other patient. He turns her on her side to stop the choking and layers her with blankets to break the fever but nothing helps.
Then Inara collapses halfway through dinner, gasping for air, with skin like hot coals, but it's not until Zoe lurches into the medbay at three in morning with a fever of 106 that Mal checks the Cortex for any news of an outbreak.
"There's quarantine on Ajax," he tells Simon quietly after the rest of the crew's returned to their bunks with grim mouths and anxious eyes. "Outbreak'a somethin' called Vesta fever started in the same town we just turned tailside. You ever hear of it?"
"I've heard of it," Simon says, holding his voice steady with some difficulty. "I never thought I'd see it." He breathes in one, two, three; lets it out and tries to think emotionlessly, professionally, the way he was trained. "We're under quarantine, Captain, the whole ship. We can't land, dock, or orbit. As little interaction with each other as possible. River is confined to her room."
"Why your sister?" Mal asks. "Ain't she in as much danger as the rest of us?"
"It's called Vesta's fever for a reason. Vesta was a Roman goddess. When this illness hits a town, the women are always the first to fall."
"You're sayin' only womanfolk get sick by this?"
Simon's mouth twists in a grim parody of a smile. "I said first to fall, Captain, not the only. The incubation period is different in males and females. In females, symptoms appear within hours. The fever can last a week or more. I'd put their chances of survival at sixty or seventy percent."
"I ain't a genius at figures, but that don't seem half bad."
Shaking his head, Simon continues. "In males, symptoms don't appear for days. That's usually how the disease spreads, in men who don't realize they're carrying it. But when the fever hits it's, it's bad. Chances of survival for a healthy man, maybe thirty percent."
"Ain't there a cure, some fancy-pants meds Alliance sells for an arm 'n a leg?" Mal is more worried than Simon's ever seen him. Simon's more worried than he's ever seen himself.
"I'm afraid not."
Mal puts his head in his hands, and Simon looks away and pretends not to see.
*
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Gabriel, Castiel
Rating: G
Prompt: Supernatural, Castiel + Gabriel, When they were put into the same room in the ward the first word he spoke was "brother" - that sounded right but neither of them could remember why.
The first thing he sees is white sheets and tousled dark hair.
"Jimmy," the nurse says loudly, gently, and the hair moves. "Jimmy, this is your new roommate, Gabe." Her hand at the small of his back, she gives Gabe a small push in the right direction. He stumbles with all the grace of a drunken tomcat and quickly rights himself. It's very important that he stand up straight; he just wishes he could remember why.
"You two get along, won't you?" the nurse says, and Gabe hears the door close and lock behind him. He stays where he is, frozen. There's no reason to move.
The hair in the bed stirs again and then lifts from the pillow, giving Gabe a better view of the person it's attached to. "Hello," it says. The hair tips to one side, pulling the head with it. "Brother."
Gabe blinks. He knows this man is not his physiological brother; the nurses and doctors with all their tests and poking would have noticed that. He's not religious enough to go around calling everyone his brothers and sisters, though he feels as if he may have been, once. And yet this man he doesn't know is undeniably his brother, in some vitally important way that he can't quite grasp.
He nods. "Brother," he echoes, and feels as if he's one tiny step closer to the truth.
*
Title: you can never go home again
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: Doctor
Rating: PG
Prompt: Doctor Who; Doctor; he's beginning to forget what life was like on Gallifrey.
Memories of his old school uniform are the first things to fade. He realizes one day that he can no longer remember the feeling of the heavy folds, thick cloth soft against his skin. The high collar chafing on his neck, the hemline swishing about his ankles. He'd always hated that old thing, but in losing it he finds that he also loses his grip on other memories, more important ones.
The precise shade of the sky; the feeling of red grass tickling at the back of his neck when the boys were daring and bold and took off their collars when no one was looking. Bright double sunsets and the sound of laughter echoing off the hills. Cool glass against the skin of his palms when he peeked curiously into the citadel as a child; the same glass against his hands when he gazed longingly out again as an adult.
Sprinting down the halls of the museum, running and running and running; he'll never stop. Large bright labels, Type Twelve and Type Twenty-Two and Type Forty. He pauses, and the door falls open under his hand. It's the only memory that's never faded, still as fresh and vivid as if it occurred only seconds ago. (He has a feeling that She has a hand in that.)
*
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Dean Thomas
Spoilers: minor for DH
Rating: PG
Prompt: any, any, ink draws beautiful things, or destroys with ugly stains
He's been working on this for weeks now. He stole the paper and ink from the Muggle shop they stopped at for supplies, but the battered old quill was in his pocket when he started running.
It's a drawing of the DA. He closes his eyes and he can still see them, Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. Every face, tired, angry, but briefly relieved of their bitterness. They smile in his head.
The scraping of the quill nib against the paper is a familiar noise, rhythmic and comforting against the strange sounds of the forest or field or riverbank that they've stopped at for the night. The ink glistens on the page as he sketches in eyes, noses, ears, hair. He adds a fold to Lavender's skirt and puts down the quill.
They have no mouths. He sees their smiles in his head, but there are no smiles here. He's worried that if he draws them wrong they'll be gone forever.
He breathes in, slowly, picks up the quill. Seamus stands in the foreground, eyes crinkled in laughter. Very carefully, Dean shapes the darkness of the mouth, gives shadow to the edges of the teeth, shades in the thin upper lip. He molds a smile out of ink and feels a weight he hadn't noticed vanish from his chest.
Ted rolls over in his sleep, flings his arm out and narrowly misses the lantern. The ink bottle tumbles, almost in slow motion, and Seamus and the others vanish in a cloud of inky darkness. Dean lies down, rests his forehead on his arms and says nothing.
*
Title: clear skies
Fandom: Animorphs
Characters: Cassie, Ax, Marco, Rachel, Jake, Tobias
Spoilers: full series
Rating: PG
Prompt: Animorphs, any, for a moment the sky is clear
Cassie
One thing that anyone who has ever ridden a horse has tried to explain is that there is nothing like the feeling of such a powerful beauty raising you up, hurtling at unknown speeds, a mass of muscle and bone and sinew stretching and jumping and you can feel the joy in it, in its freedom.
This is better.
You run and you gallop and there is sun on your back and yes, yesterday you killed, you ended the life of a living creature with teeth and claws, and you will never let go of that. But just now, just for a moment, the sky is clear.
-
Ax
You spiral towards the blue-green planet below you, so alien and unknown, and gravity pulls you in slowly.
And then you hit atmosphere, and everything is a raging inferno, flame licking at the glass. You know that it can't touch you, you know the Dome was built exactly for this, but you are three hooves deep in the pond before the irrational fear lets up. You will never admit it, but you are still trembling.
And now you are falling, captured by gravity, hurtling towards the glittering blue expanse below. You catch a glimpse of a beautiful blue sky above you before you hit, and you think that if you'd had the chance, you really could have liked this planet.
-
Marco
She's alive.
The thrill those two words send through you, it's a shiver down your spine, a tingling in your fingertips. You think, for a moment, that this war is worth it. You think, for a moment, that you will take her hand and bring her home, and your father will smile, and everything will go back to the way it was. You think, for a moment, that the clouds have finally gone away.
(In a moment, the world will come crashing down around your feet again, because none of this is true. But the moment is worth it, all the same.)
-
Rachel
There is something dark inside of you, clawing to get out. It hangs over your head, black and foreboding, making you snap, making you angry, making you want to tear out the throat of that kid who got in your way in the hall. You wonder how long it will be before someone notices and sends you to anger management.
But some nights you are not you, you are a bear or an elephant or a wolf, and you can tear and rage and stamp and claw. The dark thing jumps, escapes, guides your teeth and claws and tusks. It wants blood, hot and red and slick. You just want clear air above your head, if only for a moment.
-
Jake
You are starting to fall apart.
You've been past your limit for so long now, holding yourself together by sheer force of will. You are not a leader, not a general. You are a child lost in the bloody mist of war.
And then, like a bright beacon of light beckoning in the fog, you have a plan. It is a cruel plan, a ruthless plan. It will cost so many lives. But for a moment the sky is clear; you know your way out.
You will not be lost again.
-
Tobias
You fly, because you are a hawk.
The sky is blue and clear and empty. Your belly is full, your territory secured. And perhaps the hawk is not happy, because hawks don't feel happiness. But there is contentment, and that's good enough.
*
Fandom: Once Upon A Time
Characters: Regina, Snow
Rating: PG
Prompt: The thunder rolls / And the lightnin' strikes / Another love grows cold / On a sleepless night / As the storm blows on / Out of control / Deep in her heart / The thunder rolls
Marriage is not what she was told it would be. It was a fairy tale wedding, of course, between a beautiful bride and a good, rich king, as all fairy tales end.
But there was no joy in her heart, that day or any after. She slept in his chambers for three nights before she couldn't bear it any longer and demanded her own room.
It was kept quiet. The shame of a king and his bride sleeping in different parts of the palace wouldn't have reflected well.
Her new chambers, however, are right beside the child's.
The king had all good intentions in placing her there, of course. No one knows the hatred that's settled in her breast like a raven building its roost.
Sometimes she will slip out of her chambers, dressing gown loose on her shoulders, and watch the sleeping face of a child who never knew what she was doing. Sometimes the thought will flicker across her mind, just briefly, a lightning flash lighting up the dark: Perhaps this child doesn't deserve the hatred. Perhaps she deserves a mother.
But then a rumble, long and low, to chase it as thunder always chases lightning: She killed him.
The guards that see her as she sweeps back into her room nod and smile between themselves. A good wife, they tell each other, echoing whispers down long dark halls, a good mother who only wants to know that her daughter is safe.
They don't realize how close she comes to killing the child where she sleeps, sometimes, but the innocence on that snow white face always stays her hand. One day, she knows, it will not be enough.
*
Fandom: Animorphs
Characters: Jake, Marco
Spoilers: full series
Rating: PG
Prompt: Animorphs, Marco & Jake, If I go crazy, then will you still call me Superman?/If I'm alive and well, will you be there holding my hand? [3 Doors Down, "Kryptonite"]
Marco was, surprisingly, tactful enough to wait until my mouth had morphed from beak to lips before he said anything.
"Nice of you to drop by, Jake," he said, waving a half-glass of some sort of beverage in my direction. The drink wasn't all that was icy. "Pull up a deck chair, if you've got time to chat."
"Are you angry?" Uneasily, I sat sideways on the nearest deck chair.
"Why would I be? I mean you don't call, you don't write . . . But nah. I get it, you're the broody war hero who never leaves his house, right? Old friends, who needs 'em."
I skimmed my gaze across the glittering blue surface of the Olympic-sized pool. "Sorry."
"Yeah, well." Marco took a long pull at his crazystraw. "I don't blame you for staying indoors. Paparazzi's a bitch."
"Yeah, people following you around all day taking your picture? You must hate that."
"Hey, it's hard to look this good 24/7. A guy's gotta have a break every once in a while."
I snorted and finally leaned back in the deck chair, more relaxed than I'd been in months. "Don't know how you stand it. You're crazy, man."
He sputtered in disbelief. "I'm crazy? I'm crazy? Look at this place!" Righteous indignation on his face, he waved a hand wildly towards his house, if you could call it that. "I've got a freaking mansion! Hot chicks fawning over me, people cleaning up after me -- and I'm just the sidekick! You're the action hero, Jake, you're like -- Superman after everyone knows his secret identity, or something. Any reporter worth his nuts would practically explode for the chance at an exclusive interview with Patton Mark Two."
I didn't say anything for a moment. Then, "Superman, Marco? Really? Couldn't I at least be someone cool, like Batman?"
"Wetherbee!" Marco yelled. "Three more drinks. I need an extra to dump over this moron's head. The Man of Steel would slaughter some guy in a mask."
"An alien versus a human with cool technology? I don't know, we never did so bad." A smile twitched at the corner of my mouth. Even when everything else did, some things never changed.
*
Fandom: Animorphs
Characters: Jordan, Sara
Spoilers: full series
Rating: PG
Prompt: Animorphs, Rachel's family, it'll be all right
The Hork-Bajir valley looked bigger when it was empty. The few Hork-Bajir that remained -- the very old and very young, those who couldn't fight -- even they seemed to know something was happening. They stood quietly and watched the smoke slowly rising over the trees.
"Jordan," Sara whispered quietly into the still air. I felt her small fingers tap at my clenched fist and I opened it so that she could wriggle her own hand through mine. Our mother was near the treeline -- as near as she dared with the traps that had been set up on the perimeter of the valley -- and she was pacing restlessly. The others' parents -- Michelle and Walter, Peter and Eva, Loren and her dog, Champ -- stood quietly. Peter and Eva had their arms around each other's shoulders. Champ lay quietly at his mistress's feet.
I squeezed Sara's hand. Minutes dragged by like hours. Even the forest was silent.
"It'll be all right, Sara," I said quietly, because someone had to. The adults didn't react, but I knew my voice had carried. Someone had to say what no one really believed. "It'll all be okay. I promise."