comment_fic 806 - 810: WC/Inception/RED, Teen Wolf, WC/Leverage, SN/HL/myth
Title: the dream was marvelous but the terror was great
Fandom: White Collar/Inception/RED
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Gilgamesh
Warnings: pre-canon for all three; mentions of blood/injury
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 410
Point of view: third
Prompt: any. any. First time in real trouble
Arthur is out of contact due to some sort of military hullaballoo, and Neal really doesn't want to call his dad. Dad's going to be disappointed - whether for the fuck up (which is major or for the criminality, Neal's not sure, but he is definitely going to be disappointed - but Neal has to call him.
His arm is burning, and still sluggishly bleeding, and Neal's tucked into a corner, phone in his hand, Dad's number keyed in, waiting for Neal to hit call.
He has to hit call. If he calls Arthur instead, Arthur's military career is shot (shot, hah) and Neal doesn't want to ruin his brother's life. Not any more than he did in high-school, when he got them both suspended for a week, or that time in junior high, when Arthur got a month's detention for beating the shit out of Drake Whitman for stealing Neal's sketchbook, or even back in elementary, when Arthur terrified the entire fourth grade into leaving Neal alone after his panic attack at the pep rally.
Arthur has always taken care of Neal, and what has Neal given him in return? Trouble. So much fucking trouble. Neal can't ruin his life anymore.
So he hits call and holds the phone up to his ear, and when Dad grouches into the phone, "Been a long time, kiddo," Neal mumbles, "Dad, I fucked up."
The words are slurred and his eyes keep slipping shut, and Dad barks, "Neal Francis Moses, you answer me, boy. Where are you?"
Neal tells him, as best he can remember, and then he says, "Dad, I'm cold."
"Don't worry, I got backup close to you, Neal," Dad tells him. "Just hold on, I'll be there soon."
"Let Artie know I'm sorry," Neal mutters, head thunking back against the wall. "I never meant to ruin 'is life."
"Neal!" Dad shouts, but Neal can't answer, can't open his eyes, can't -
.
Neal wakes up in a hospital under a name that isn't his, Dad slumped in the chair beside him and Arthur quietly threatening a doctor until the man runs from the room.
Arthur immediately focuses on Neal and Dad sits up, and after they've thoroughly chewed him out, Uncle Marvin and Auntie Tori slink in and have their turns.
And after that, Arthur rests his forehead against Neal's and just breathes, and Neal cups the back of Arthur's head in his un-IV'd hand and holds on.
Title: crying wolf
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: mentions of violence/torture/cold-blooded and calculated murder
Pairings: a smidge of implied Stiles/Peter Hale
Rating: PG13
Wordcount: 710
Pint of view: third
Prompt: any, any, "Your enemies are precious to you. They teach you what your friends cannot."
Note: the alpha pack is not a thing. My headcanon, until canon states otherwise, is that Stiles' birthname is Allandros.
Peter Hale taught Stiles a lot. Gerard Argent taught him even more.
.
Even with werewolves running around, with trigger-happy hunters, the stench of blood and ash - it was still a game. Like Stiles' imagination had sprung out of his head and said, Here's an adventure, just for you, buddy-boy.
Yeah. It's all fun and games until you betray your best friend to the monster that just killed the girl of your dreams.
It's all fun and games until you're bloody and bruised on the ground, until you're a message that no one receives.
It's all fun and games until it's not, and that's when you get mean.
.
Dad is a good man. Mom had been an angel.
Allie was a good little boy, but he died with his mother.
Stiles was impetuous and excitable, but he mostly had good intentions - and he was nearly destroyed by Peter Hale, and then killed deader than dead by Gerard Argent.
.
Stiles loves Scott with everything in him. Allison is awesome when she's not crazily homicidal. Lydia is a goddess, Jackson's a douche, and Danny is stealthily hilarious. Derek and the puppies are growing on him.
Dad is most important in the world.
.
In his nightmares, Peter's teeth dig in to the bone and Stiles howls with joy.
In his nightmares, every one of his bones breaks and he watches Gerard torture Erica and Boyd to death.
In his nightmares, Dad learns about what Stiles has been hiding for months and turns away, shakes his head, throws Stiles out of the house and never looks back.
In his nightmares, Scott chooses Allison's crusade against Derek and everyone dies.
In his nightmares, Stiles lights a spark and the world burns.
In his nightmares, no one was in the woods that night.
.
Derek goes out of his way to not hurt humans because of a code nobody else bothers to follow. Eventually, his puppies do the same.
Stiles… well.
(Red eyes and a lacrosse field. Cold concrete and crueler hands.)
There are lines Derek won't cross, that his puppies shy from, that Scott can't even imagine touching. There're lines that Stiles sees, that Stiles acknowledges, that Stiles stomps all over because some things have to be done.
.
Peter Hale is alive. Gerard Argent is a smear on the ground.
Peter watches Stiles with knowing eyes. Scott cuddles with Allison, Boyd and Erica keep their distance from both, Isaac tumbles at Scott's heels, Lydia lords over them all, Jackson douches the place up, and Danny cracks deadpan jokes only Lydia understands at first. Derek is mellowing the longer the pack goes without getting their asses kicked.
Stiles watches Peter right back.
.
Derek will never offer Stiles the bite. Stiles will never ask for it.
.
Dad says, "I miss you, kid."
Stiles doesn't say, "I miss me, too."
.
The moon is dark and the pack hunts in the preserve. The pack humans cook dinner at the renovated Hale house (Stiles) or lounge around in the game room (everybody else), and everyone is happy, and everyone is well.
Three nights ago, Stiles calmly and coldly executed a hunter. In three weeks, that hunter's partner will come calling and Stiles will deal with her, too.
Derek doesn't know and wouldn't like it at all. Dad would be horrified (but, Stiles is almost certain, he'd understand) and Scott would never look at Stiles the same again. Allison would tell her father, and Chris Argent is his father's son, even if he follows the code when he chooses to. The puppies and the other humans - Stiles doesn't know how they'd react, but it wouldn't be good.
In three months, Peter will caress Stiles' face and murmur into his ear, I should've bitten you.
Stiles will grin at him, turning into the touch, and says, My, my, Mr. Wolf, what big teeth you have.
.
Stiles blows a handful of mountain ash and wolfsbane into a werewolf's face; Stiles empties a clip into a hunter's chest.
Beacon Hills is his territory and the pack is his family.
Stiles learned to bend in a parking garage, his face pressed into a keyboard; he refused to break in a madman's basement.
He will do what has to be done, and he will never regret it.
Title: a child's forgotten mornings when he walked with his mother through the parables of sunlight
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Dylan Thomas
Warnings: mentions of death due to cancer/degenerative illness; implied violence
Pairings: mentions of Sheriff/Mama Stilinski
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 260
Point of view: third
Prompt: any, any, "Hope is faith holding out its hand in the dark." George Iles
Every morning, Alex wakes up and thinks, Maybe today the kid'll talk to me again.
Every night, he goes to bed and thinks, Ellie, I wish you were here. I don't understand our son at all.
.
Every week for months, Stiles shows up at crime scenes and acts guilty. Alex doesn't want to believe it, of course he doesn't - but the pattern is there. It's there in neon and sparkles, bright as day.
Then the station massacre. Then Stiles goes missing for a few hours only to come back bruised and bloody.
Ellie, Alex thinks, turning Stiles face to examine his cheek, please, babe. I could really use some help here.
She doesn't answer. And when Stiles opens his mouth, the explanation that spills out is just as much a lie as everything else he's said since Laura Hale turned up in the woods.
.
Stiles has Ellie's spark, her determination, her laughter, her taste for bullshit, and her smarts. God, Ellie was so fucking smart. She was going places. She was going to do things.
She died by inches, eaten from the inside out by something neither of them could fight.
It's hereditary. Neither Alex nor Stiles have ever talked about it.
.
"Dad," Stiles says one morning at breakfast. He got in late last night, he's walking like it hurts, hydrogen peroxide is stinking up the bathroom, and there's bruise curling around the base of his throat. "Dad," Stiles says. "I need to talk to you."
Thank you, Ellie, Alex thinks as he settles in to listen.
Title: like the sea in a jar
Fandom: White Collar/Leverage
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Anne Sexton
Warnings: AU for both fandoms, but not a lot. Just taking advantage of two characters with the same last name; mentions of violence; timelines that don't really mesh but I'm handwaving; implied unfaithfulness
Pairings: Eliot/Neal, mentions of Neal/Kate, Peter/Elizabeth, maybe some implied Peter/Neal
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1080
Point of view: third
Prompt: White Collar/Burn Notice or Chuck or Leverage, any, Peter hates it when Neal's old friend comes to town
The first time Peter sees him, Neal has just said goodbye, kissed him, and waved as he walked away. The man was shorter than Neal but broader, wearing jeans and a plaid shirt. His hair, dark brown, was pulled back in a ponytail.
Peter didn't think anything of it, really. So long as Neal's personal life didn't affect the Bureau or their cases -
Okay, fine, he thought a lot about it. No need to be so smug, Elizabeth.
.
The second time, Peter saw the man's cold blue eyes and steely smirk as Neal shoved him towards the door, muttering, "Come back later, after work, you lug."
The man laughed, whiskey silk smooth and rough at the same time, and said, "Later, babe," kissing Neal on the lips quickly before sauntering down the stairs.
Peter knew that face from somewhere, but it slipped his mind when Neal got himself shot later that night.
.
Two days later, the goon who shot Neal before diving into a crowd of civilians to get away turned up on the Bureau's front step. Both his legs were broken, his hands duct-taped together, and the rest of him had been worked over professionally.
Peter thought a lot about it during Neal's recovery, but the mystery man didn't show his face again for months.
.
The third time, Peter was flipping through a list of known associates for Sofia Yelenez, a con woman who eclipsed even Neal, and saw the man's face glaring at him: Eliot Spencer, retrieval expert.
Of course, Peter pulled his file.
.
Peter stormed into Neal's loft without even knocking and demanded, "Did you know he was Damien Moreau's right hand!?"
Neal didn't even look up from his sketchbook. "Of course I did, Peter. I introduced them."
That… was not what he expected and his righteous anger deflated. "What?"
Neal did look up then, a small smile on his face. "You don't know everything about me, Peter, or who I was when I ran with him." He shrugged. "But that life is gone now." He focused back on his sketchbook and Peter gently closed the door behind him as he left.
.
The fourth time, Neal introduced them. "Eliot Donovan, my former keeper," he said grandly, "meet Peter Burke, my current keeper."
"Agent Burke," Eliot said, giving Peter a good handshake and not trying to break his hand. "Good to meet you, sir."
"You, too," Peter replied, not letting a single thing he felt show on his face or his body language.
Eliot smirked at him, though, and asked, "He tell you how we hooked up?"
Neal said, "That's not a story for polite company, Donny," grabbing him by the hand and tugging him away.
Neal managed to keep them separated for the rest of the night, all the while playing host for June's dinner party. And Eliot (Donny? Could that be his real name? Surely not… or maybe the name he used while Neal was - whatever Neal was.) just kept looking at Peter and smirking.
.
The fifth time, Sofia Yelenez and her entire team were in Neal's loft when Peter opened the door.
He didn't even try to arrest any of them, just sighed and turned around, saying, "I'll come back later, Neal. Try not to break any laws until then."
.
The sixth time, Eliot knocked on Peter's front door and Elizabeth let him in. Peter was immediately on his feet when he heard that voice drawl, "Thank you, ma'am." He scrambled for his gun, but it was safely locked away and he knew it'd be pointless, even if he had it. He'd need an entire SWAT team to take down Eliot Spencer, and even that might not be enough.
"Agent Burke," Eliot said. "I need a minute of your time."
"Is this…" El asked. "Should I go upstairs?"
Eliot shrugged. "I don't care if you hear, ma'am. It's about Neal." His lips twisted, like he couldn't decide if he should grimace or smile. "He was Noah Lafferty when we met, still just a kid who liked to draw." He paused, glancing away, at El, and then back at Peter. "He was boy trying to be a man, and he had a gift for pissing off the wrong people."
"Have a seat," Peter said, gesturing towards the armchair. "This sounds like it'll be long."
Nodding, Eliot said, "'bout ten years, give or take. Not consecutive, but that's about how long we were together, added up."
"He introduced you to Damien Moreau in those ten years?" Peter asked, pulling Elizabeth in close.
Eliot chuckled, but it didn't sound that mirthful. "Is that what the kid told you?" He shook his head. "I kept Damien from executing him when it came out that my stupid-ass partner was dating Damien's only daughter on the side."
"What," Peter said after a moment. "That couldn't - what?"
"If Damien hadn't been distracted by my team and then imprisoned by the people he'd been oppressing…" Eliot shrugged again. "When Katie died, New York would've been washed in blood." He looked down at his hands. "She was a good kid, but so much like her father. If I didn't let Neal make mistakes, though, he'd never learn."
Peter couldn't think of a thing to say.
"That's not why I'm here," Eliot said when the silence got too awkward.
"You mentioned something about Neal having a gift for making enemies," El said, squeezing Peter's hand.
Eliot nodded again. "My team and I have something in place to bring down the entire reason I ever met Neal. I'm offering you the chance to be the agent who brings the scumbag in."
"Tell me everything," Peter said.
.
The seventh time, Neal introduced Eliot's team, and Parker followed Elizabeth around like a duckling with Hardison trailing in their wake, and Sophie chatted with June about art, and Nate discussed cases with Peter.
"You happy, kid?" Eliot asked quietly, tapping the toe of his boot to Neal's ankle, where the tracking device was still whirring away.
"I am," Neal replied, smiling.
Title: I've heard the breathless beat of angels' wings when the bullets fly and the sabers swing
Fandom: Supernatural/Highlander/mythology
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from John Popper
Warnings: spoilers for SN season 5
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 305
Point of view: third
Prompt: any, any/any,
So many things that I wanted to say
Forever left untold
I still remember the tears that you shed
Over someone else (HAMMERFALL, "The Fallen One")
They meet up every few hundred years, beside a stream or in a tavern or walking down a road that doesn't exist. They chat, catching up and sharing jokes and arguing for the sake of it. A few hours every few hundred years, and it's enough.
For a very long time, it's enough.
.
They've told each other a thousand names, none of them truer than the rest. Every name is who they are, who they've been, who they'll one day be.
This day, his name is Eshu and his companion is Adao; it's storming and they're standing on a beach.
This day, Adao is furious and spends the first hour of their meeting shouting into the wind, cursing and screaming, and Eshu waits.
"My brothers are dead," Adao finally says, voice hoarse and fists clenched. "There was no other way and now they are gone." He closes his eyes, shuddering, wrapping his arms around himself. "And I can't even avenge them," he murmurs, words almost stolen by the storm. "I'd have to destroy myself, and even for my brothers, even for those children…"
He turns to face Eshu, desperately demanding, "You understand, don't you, that I won't destroy myself for anyone?"
"Of course I do," Eshu assures him, not reaching out to hold him because Adao would not accept it right now.
Adao turns back into the storm; Eshu stays at his side until the storm blows out.
They go their separate ways until the next meeting.
.
(Lucifer kills Gabriel without hesitating.
Death's son pulls Gabriel back from his father's grip, and Father lets the angel go with a smirk because he's always had a soft spot for tricksters.)
.
In a few hundred years, Heyókȟa thanks Maitias. Maitias simply shrugs and smiles, saying, "Knock knock."
Heyókȟa laughs, long and loud, before asking, "Who's there?"
Fandom: White Collar/Inception/RED
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Gilgamesh
Warnings: pre-canon for all three; mentions of blood/injury
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 410
Point of view: third
Prompt: any. any. First time in real trouble
Arthur is out of contact due to some sort of military hullaballoo, and Neal really doesn't want to call his dad. Dad's going to be disappointed - whether for the fuck up (which is major or for the criminality, Neal's not sure, but he is definitely going to be disappointed - but Neal has to call him.
His arm is burning, and still sluggishly bleeding, and Neal's tucked into a corner, phone in his hand, Dad's number keyed in, waiting for Neal to hit call.
He has to hit call. If he calls Arthur instead, Arthur's military career is shot (shot, hah) and Neal doesn't want to ruin his brother's life. Not any more than he did in high-school, when he got them both suspended for a week, or that time in junior high, when Arthur got a month's detention for beating the shit out of Drake Whitman for stealing Neal's sketchbook, or even back in elementary, when Arthur terrified the entire fourth grade into leaving Neal alone after his panic attack at the pep rally.
Arthur has always taken care of Neal, and what has Neal given him in return? Trouble. So much fucking trouble. Neal can't ruin his life anymore.
So he hits call and holds the phone up to his ear, and when Dad grouches into the phone, "Been a long time, kiddo," Neal mumbles, "Dad, I fucked up."
The words are slurred and his eyes keep slipping shut, and Dad barks, "Neal Francis Moses, you answer me, boy. Where are you?"
Neal tells him, as best he can remember, and then he says, "Dad, I'm cold."
"Don't worry, I got backup close to you, Neal," Dad tells him. "Just hold on, I'll be there soon."
"Let Artie know I'm sorry," Neal mutters, head thunking back against the wall. "I never meant to ruin 'is life."
"Neal!" Dad shouts, but Neal can't answer, can't open his eyes, can't -
.
Neal wakes up in a hospital under a name that isn't his, Dad slumped in the chair beside him and Arthur quietly threatening a doctor until the man runs from the room.
Arthur immediately focuses on Neal and Dad sits up, and after they've thoroughly chewed him out, Uncle Marvin and Auntie Tori slink in and have their turns.
And after that, Arthur rests his forehead against Neal's and just breathes, and Neal cups the back of Arthur's head in his un-IV'd hand and holds on.
Title: crying wolf
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: mentions of violence/torture/cold-blooded and calculated murder
Pairings: a smidge of implied Stiles/Peter Hale
Rating: PG13
Wordcount: 710
Pint of view: third
Prompt: any, any, "Your enemies are precious to you. They teach you what your friends cannot."
Note: the alpha pack is not a thing. My headcanon, until canon states otherwise, is that Stiles' birthname is Allandros.
Peter Hale taught Stiles a lot. Gerard Argent taught him even more.
.
Even with werewolves running around, with trigger-happy hunters, the stench of blood and ash - it was still a game. Like Stiles' imagination had sprung out of his head and said, Here's an adventure, just for you, buddy-boy.
Yeah. It's all fun and games until you betray your best friend to the monster that just killed the girl of your dreams.
It's all fun and games until you're bloody and bruised on the ground, until you're a message that no one receives.
It's all fun and games until it's not, and that's when you get mean.
.
Dad is a good man. Mom had been an angel.
Allie was a good little boy, but he died with his mother.
Stiles was impetuous and excitable, but he mostly had good intentions - and he was nearly destroyed by Peter Hale, and then killed deader than dead by Gerard Argent.
.
Stiles loves Scott with everything in him. Allison is awesome when she's not crazily homicidal. Lydia is a goddess, Jackson's a douche, and Danny is stealthily hilarious. Derek and the puppies are growing on him.
Dad is most important in the world.
.
In his nightmares, Peter's teeth dig in to the bone and Stiles howls with joy.
In his nightmares, every one of his bones breaks and he watches Gerard torture Erica and Boyd to death.
In his nightmares, Dad learns about what Stiles has been hiding for months and turns away, shakes his head, throws Stiles out of the house and never looks back.
In his nightmares, Scott chooses Allison's crusade against Derek and everyone dies.
In his nightmares, Stiles lights a spark and the world burns.
In his nightmares, no one was in the woods that night.
.
Derek goes out of his way to not hurt humans because of a code nobody else bothers to follow. Eventually, his puppies do the same.
Stiles… well.
(Red eyes and a lacrosse field. Cold concrete and crueler hands.)
There are lines Derek won't cross, that his puppies shy from, that Scott can't even imagine touching. There're lines that Stiles sees, that Stiles acknowledges, that Stiles stomps all over because some things have to be done.
.
Peter Hale is alive. Gerard Argent is a smear on the ground.
Peter watches Stiles with knowing eyes. Scott cuddles with Allison, Boyd and Erica keep their distance from both, Isaac tumbles at Scott's heels, Lydia lords over them all, Jackson douches the place up, and Danny cracks deadpan jokes only Lydia understands at first. Derek is mellowing the longer the pack goes without getting their asses kicked.
Stiles watches Peter right back.
.
Derek will never offer Stiles the bite. Stiles will never ask for it.
.
Dad says, "I miss you, kid."
Stiles doesn't say, "I miss me, too."
.
The moon is dark and the pack hunts in the preserve. The pack humans cook dinner at the renovated Hale house (Stiles) or lounge around in the game room (everybody else), and everyone is happy, and everyone is well.
Three nights ago, Stiles calmly and coldly executed a hunter. In three weeks, that hunter's partner will come calling and Stiles will deal with her, too.
Derek doesn't know and wouldn't like it at all. Dad would be horrified (but, Stiles is almost certain, he'd understand) and Scott would never look at Stiles the same again. Allison would tell her father, and Chris Argent is his father's son, even if he follows the code when he chooses to. The puppies and the other humans - Stiles doesn't know how they'd react, but it wouldn't be good.
In three months, Peter will caress Stiles' face and murmur into his ear, I should've bitten you.
Stiles will grin at him, turning into the touch, and says, My, my, Mr. Wolf, what big teeth you have.
.
Stiles blows a handful of mountain ash and wolfsbane into a werewolf's face; Stiles empties a clip into a hunter's chest.
Beacon Hills is his territory and the pack is his family.
Stiles learned to bend in a parking garage, his face pressed into a keyboard; he refused to break in a madman's basement.
He will do what has to be done, and he will never regret it.
Title: a child's forgotten mornings when he walked with his mother through the parables of sunlight
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Dylan Thomas
Warnings: mentions of death due to cancer/degenerative illness; implied violence
Pairings: mentions of Sheriff/Mama Stilinski
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 260
Point of view: third
Prompt: any, any, "Hope is faith holding out its hand in the dark." George Iles
Every morning, Alex wakes up and thinks, Maybe today the kid'll talk to me again.
Every night, he goes to bed and thinks, Ellie, I wish you were here. I don't understand our son at all.
.
Every week for months, Stiles shows up at crime scenes and acts guilty. Alex doesn't want to believe it, of course he doesn't - but the pattern is there. It's there in neon and sparkles, bright as day.
Then the station massacre. Then Stiles goes missing for a few hours only to come back bruised and bloody.
Ellie, Alex thinks, turning Stiles face to examine his cheek, please, babe. I could really use some help here.
She doesn't answer. And when Stiles opens his mouth, the explanation that spills out is just as much a lie as everything else he's said since Laura Hale turned up in the woods.
.
Stiles has Ellie's spark, her determination, her laughter, her taste for bullshit, and her smarts. God, Ellie was so fucking smart. She was going places. She was going to do things.
She died by inches, eaten from the inside out by something neither of them could fight.
It's hereditary. Neither Alex nor Stiles have ever talked about it.
.
"Dad," Stiles says one morning at breakfast. He got in late last night, he's walking like it hurts, hydrogen peroxide is stinking up the bathroom, and there's bruise curling around the base of his throat. "Dad," Stiles says. "I need to talk to you."
Thank you, Ellie, Alex thinks as he settles in to listen.
Title: like the sea in a jar
Fandom: White Collar/Leverage
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Anne Sexton
Warnings: AU for both fandoms, but not a lot. Just taking advantage of two characters with the same last name; mentions of violence; timelines that don't really mesh but I'm handwaving; implied unfaithfulness
Pairings: Eliot/Neal, mentions of Neal/Kate, Peter/Elizabeth, maybe some implied Peter/Neal
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1080
Point of view: third
Prompt: White Collar/Burn Notice or Chuck or Leverage, any, Peter hates it when Neal's old friend comes to town
The first time Peter sees him, Neal has just said goodbye, kissed him, and waved as he walked away. The man was shorter than Neal but broader, wearing jeans and a plaid shirt. His hair, dark brown, was pulled back in a ponytail.
Peter didn't think anything of it, really. So long as Neal's personal life didn't affect the Bureau or their cases -
Okay, fine, he thought a lot about it. No need to be so smug, Elizabeth.
.
The second time, Peter saw the man's cold blue eyes and steely smirk as Neal shoved him towards the door, muttering, "Come back later, after work, you lug."
The man laughed, whiskey silk smooth and rough at the same time, and said, "Later, babe," kissing Neal on the lips quickly before sauntering down the stairs.
Peter knew that face from somewhere, but it slipped his mind when Neal got himself shot later that night.
.
Two days later, the goon who shot Neal before diving into a crowd of civilians to get away turned up on the Bureau's front step. Both his legs were broken, his hands duct-taped together, and the rest of him had been worked over professionally.
Peter thought a lot about it during Neal's recovery, but the mystery man didn't show his face again for months.
.
The third time, Peter was flipping through a list of known associates for Sofia Yelenez, a con woman who eclipsed even Neal, and saw the man's face glaring at him: Eliot Spencer, retrieval expert.
Of course, Peter pulled his file.
.
Peter stormed into Neal's loft without even knocking and demanded, "Did you know he was Damien Moreau's right hand!?"
Neal didn't even look up from his sketchbook. "Of course I did, Peter. I introduced them."
That… was not what he expected and his righteous anger deflated. "What?"
Neal did look up then, a small smile on his face. "You don't know everything about me, Peter, or who I was when I ran with him." He shrugged. "But that life is gone now." He focused back on his sketchbook and Peter gently closed the door behind him as he left.
.
The fourth time, Neal introduced them. "Eliot Donovan, my former keeper," he said grandly, "meet Peter Burke, my current keeper."
"Agent Burke," Eliot said, giving Peter a good handshake and not trying to break his hand. "Good to meet you, sir."
"You, too," Peter replied, not letting a single thing he felt show on his face or his body language.
Eliot smirked at him, though, and asked, "He tell you how we hooked up?"
Neal said, "That's not a story for polite company, Donny," grabbing him by the hand and tugging him away.
Neal managed to keep them separated for the rest of the night, all the while playing host for June's dinner party. And Eliot (Donny? Could that be his real name? Surely not… or maybe the name he used while Neal was - whatever Neal was.) just kept looking at Peter and smirking.
.
The fifth time, Sofia Yelenez and her entire team were in Neal's loft when Peter opened the door.
He didn't even try to arrest any of them, just sighed and turned around, saying, "I'll come back later, Neal. Try not to break any laws until then."
.
The sixth time, Eliot knocked on Peter's front door and Elizabeth let him in. Peter was immediately on his feet when he heard that voice drawl, "Thank you, ma'am." He scrambled for his gun, but it was safely locked away and he knew it'd be pointless, even if he had it. He'd need an entire SWAT team to take down Eliot Spencer, and even that might not be enough.
"Agent Burke," Eliot said. "I need a minute of your time."
"Is this…" El asked. "Should I go upstairs?"
Eliot shrugged. "I don't care if you hear, ma'am. It's about Neal." His lips twisted, like he couldn't decide if he should grimace or smile. "He was Noah Lafferty when we met, still just a kid who liked to draw." He paused, glancing away, at El, and then back at Peter. "He was boy trying to be a man, and he had a gift for pissing off the wrong people."
"Have a seat," Peter said, gesturing towards the armchair. "This sounds like it'll be long."
Nodding, Eliot said, "'bout ten years, give or take. Not consecutive, but that's about how long we were together, added up."
"He introduced you to Damien Moreau in those ten years?" Peter asked, pulling Elizabeth in close.
Eliot chuckled, but it didn't sound that mirthful. "Is that what the kid told you?" He shook his head. "I kept Damien from executing him when it came out that my stupid-ass partner was dating Damien's only daughter on the side."
"What," Peter said after a moment. "That couldn't - what?"
"If Damien hadn't been distracted by my team and then imprisoned by the people he'd been oppressing…" Eliot shrugged again. "When Katie died, New York would've been washed in blood." He looked down at his hands. "She was a good kid, but so much like her father. If I didn't let Neal make mistakes, though, he'd never learn."
Peter couldn't think of a thing to say.
"That's not why I'm here," Eliot said when the silence got too awkward.
"You mentioned something about Neal having a gift for making enemies," El said, squeezing Peter's hand.
Eliot nodded again. "My team and I have something in place to bring down the entire reason I ever met Neal. I'm offering you the chance to be the agent who brings the scumbag in."
"Tell me everything," Peter said.
.
The seventh time, Neal introduced Eliot's team, and Parker followed Elizabeth around like a duckling with Hardison trailing in their wake, and Sophie chatted with June about art, and Nate discussed cases with Peter.
"You happy, kid?" Eliot asked quietly, tapping the toe of his boot to Neal's ankle, where the tracking device was still whirring away.
"I am," Neal replied, smiling.
Title: I've heard the breathless beat of angels' wings when the bullets fly and the sabers swing
Fandom: Supernatural/Highlander/mythology
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from John Popper
Warnings: spoilers for SN season 5
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 305
Point of view: third
Prompt: any, any/any,
So many things that I wanted to say
Forever left untold
I still remember the tears that you shed
Over someone else (HAMMERFALL, "The Fallen One")
They meet up every few hundred years, beside a stream or in a tavern or walking down a road that doesn't exist. They chat, catching up and sharing jokes and arguing for the sake of it. A few hours every few hundred years, and it's enough.
For a very long time, it's enough.
.
They've told each other a thousand names, none of them truer than the rest. Every name is who they are, who they've been, who they'll one day be.
This day, his name is Eshu and his companion is Adao; it's storming and they're standing on a beach.
This day, Adao is furious and spends the first hour of their meeting shouting into the wind, cursing and screaming, and Eshu waits.
"My brothers are dead," Adao finally says, voice hoarse and fists clenched. "There was no other way and now they are gone." He closes his eyes, shuddering, wrapping his arms around himself. "And I can't even avenge them," he murmurs, words almost stolen by the storm. "I'd have to destroy myself, and even for my brothers, even for those children…"
He turns to face Eshu, desperately demanding, "You understand, don't you, that I won't destroy myself for anyone?"
"Of course I do," Eshu assures him, not reaching out to hold him because Adao would not accept it right now.
Adao turns back into the storm; Eshu stays at his side until the storm blows out.
They go their separate ways until the next meeting.
.
(Lucifer kills Gabriel without hesitating.
Death's son pulls Gabriel back from his father's grip, and Father lets the angel go with a smirk because he's always had a soft spot for tricksters.)
.
In a few hundred years, Heyókȟa thanks Maitias. Maitias simply shrugs and smiles, saying, "Knock knock."
Heyókȟa laughs, long and loud, before asking, "Who's there?"