drabbles: Supernatural, Stargate, Psych
Title: phone tag
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: takes place just after 2.5 “Simon Says”
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 195
Point of view: third
Prompt: Sam attempts to screen Dean's calls for several days after "Simon Says." Understandably, this drives Dean nuts.
It takes Dean a couple days to catch on, which is embarrassing-but in his defense, it’s been a hard few months.
Sam has answered every phone-call since they left Andy. Doesn’t matter if it’s his cell or Dean’s: he answers them both. Even if he’s already on the phone, he grabs Dean’s cell out of his hands and answers.
“Sam!” Dean finally says, snatching his phone back. “What the fuck, dude?”
Ducking his head, Sam takes his sweet time replying, “I just… worry, is all.”
Dean sighs. “Look, I get it.” And he does. It’s not that fun being an overprotective brother, but it’s been his role to play for nearly thirty years now. Sam’s had his brushes with it-Sue Ann and the heart-attack, and those first weeks after Dad.
“Just…” He waits until Sam looks up again. “Quit taking my phone, Sam.”
“Okay.” Sam nods.
The next time Bobby calls, Dean raises an eyebrow as Sam lunges for his phone. Sam jerks to a stop and lowers his hand, shuffling in place. “Hi, Bobby,” Dean says.
Sam still stands too close, trying to listen in, but Dean’s a master of compromising.
Title: phoenix
Fandom: SG-1/Stargate Atlantis crossover
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: AUish
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 390
Point of view: third
Notes: there is a very epic and involved backstory to this. It will probably never see the light of day, though.
Atlantis remembers her builders, the curious and aloof and experimental people who made her and left. They did not give her life--she woke after they fled into the spirit, abandoning their bodies as they did her.
These humans are not equal to her makers. They use the builders' tools like children, uncomprehending. But they are kind, and one delights in her while another tries so very hard to understand everything, to learn her secrets.
She has seen them both before, these spirits called John and Rodney. Before she woke, in the last days before her builders fled. They were wanderers, something different from her builders, or the builders' children, or the allies, or the enemies. Something she had not seen before or seen since.
Phoenix, they called themselves, and a third was with them, a boy they did not name.
And at first, the builders were hopeful, but Phoenix called them young and foolish and said they had waited too long and nothing could be done.
And Phoenix left. Soon the builders followed. And Atlantis slept alone until she woke herself to wait.
Phoenix has returned in the guise of her builders' children and Atlantis knows they do not. They believe themselves to be John and Rodney, a soldier and a scientist, but they know her and each other. She sings for them, in ways she did not even for her builders.
Marauders come, fakes and liars, and in their wake, the boy returns, the youngest of the Phoenix, and as he steps onto her, Atlantis surges.
All three collapse and the humans rush to their sides. They sleep an awaken remembering .
John, Rodney, and Daniel. A soldier, a scientist, and the man who woke the stargate of a long-untouched world. Wanderers from afar she knows from days when her builders still walked her halls.
Their spirits are bright now as they rise in the infirmary, as they ignore the other humans to stare at each other.
"Of course," says the one known as Daniel now.
Rodney huffs and John smiles. "A hundred thousand years," John muses. "A lot of changes since then."
"I can't believe I forgot," Rodney complains.
Atlantis hums in pleasure, her Phoenix home again. The builders formed and used her, but the Phoenix loves her and with them finally home, no enemy can stand for long.
Title: knights in faded levis
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: pre-series
Pairings: mentions of John/Mary
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 550
Point of view: third
Prompt: Wee!Chester. John slowly realizes that Dean has gone hungry while he was away on his last hunt. He makes it up to his son.
John's two days late and pissed as all get-out because Travis'd said it'd be an easy hunt, in and out, a day max. Everything that could go wrong did go wrong and the groceries had been on their last legs when he left.
He should've stocked up but his last paycheck was late, too, fuck it all, and while the hunt was supposed to be easy, people were still dying.
The excuses sound hollow in his own ears. None of that'll mean jack-shit to Dean and Sammy.
Well, maybe to Dean, the little peace-keeper. All of eleven and trying to take care of them both, making sure Sam does his schoolwork and doesn't bother John while he's researching or tired from a fifteen-hour workday. Cooks when they have the supplies for it, easy things though John's noticed he's slowly getting more adept at making things taste restaurant-like.
Shit, now John feels even worse for being so goddamned late.
o0o
Sam's sacked out on the floor, army-men spread around him. Dean's standing beside him, one hand on the shotgun leaning against the wall.
He waits until John says, "Hey, Dean, you think Sam's ready to toss around a football?" to relax, shoulders slumping.
"No, Dad," he answers quietly.
John tries to smile and knows Dean can see right through it. "Let's get ya'll to bed, alright?" he says and Dean nods.
o0o
In the morning, John makes breakfast: scrambled eggs, slices of bacon, toast with strawberry jelly.
The fridge and pantry had been bare, and John wanted to slam his head into the wall. So fucking stupid. Mary would kick his ass up and down the block.
Dean's up first, of course; ever since the fire, kid's slept like a cat. He stares at breakfast, then John, and asks, "How'd the hunt go?"
No demands of what took so long, of why he didn't come home, why he left them without any supplies. Just accepting that John had his reasons.
He wants to slam his head into the wall again.
"Fine," he answers, serving Dean a plate. "Took longer than expected."
Dean nods seriously. Sam bounces in, chattering that John's back, that Daisy in his class has a puppy, that Dean's taking him to the park for popsicles today.
Sam chows his way through breakfast without ever letting up on the stream of information, and John knows that Dean must have treated his absence like a game. He wonders who won.
Dean slowly savors each bite of his meal, each sip of the fresh milk. Sam clearly didn't go hungry, which means that Dean must've.
Mary wouldn't have kicked his ass, John knows. She'd have fucking buried him.
"Well then," he says, clearing away the dishes. "Let's get to that park."
He promises himself to not leave the boys again, to always keep groceries, at least the non-perishables, around.
"I'm glad you're back, Dad," Dean tells him quietly as they follow Sam out the door. He doesn't say that he was frightened, or that he thought John had died, or a dozen other things he has the right to.
Mary would have his head. He'd deserve it.
"Me, too, kiddo," he says.
(Three weeks later, Bobby calls with a hunt that just can't wait. John leaves Dean a hundred in cash and a stocked pantry.)
Title: We weep together and make a bed of the rain
Fandom: Psych
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Anne Sexton
Warnings: takes place after season 4
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 230
Point of view: third
Notes: for tigris_lilsis -here is the lament of GusGus.
Shawn has never actively disliked guns. His father taught him to use them, to respect them, and after the little boy excitement faded, he didn't care about them either way. Guns were simply a tool.
When he was older, after starting his career as a fake psychic, Shawn told Gus that guns were for those who couldn’t reason their way out of trouble. And, he said, he didn't need a gun. He could bluff his way out of anything.
Then Yang happened. Then Yin. And in between, Shawn got shot. The bad guys weren't playing by the rules.
So Shawn took Gus to a firing range and taught him to use a gun.
"I know," Shawn said quietly, "that you hate weapons." His touch and his voice both wept for the last of Gus' innocence. Gus listened to Shawn and followed his commands without complaint, and that was Shawn's absolution.
Gus didn't go with Shawn the day he applied for and got his gun license or his concealed permit.
Shawn began carrying and Gus wished they could be kids again, in a world without guns, a time when Shawn had never felt a bullet and Gus had never wondered if today would be when Shawn died.
It's not a game anymore and Gus prays everyday because Shawn won't back down, and in his most worried moments, Gus pieces together Shawn's eulogy.