comment_fic 1115 - 1119: SN, original, Fast&Furious, HL, HL/BtVS
Title: smile
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: AU for season 3, death, sadness
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 310
Point of view: third
Prompt: SPN: Sam/Dean (Or Sam & Dean), the first and last time Dean saw his brother smile
"C'mere, baby boy, look at your brother," Mama says, hand reaching for Dean.
He still doesn't understand how his little brother got out of Mama's belly but Daddy lifts him up onto the bed and he peers carefully down at Sammy (that's what Mama and Daddy keep calling him). He doesn't look like much, Dean thinks, but he doesn't say it.
And then Sammy smiles. "He's smilin'!" Dean says, utterly entranced, and so he doesn't notice Mama and Daddy grinning at each other, and it'll be a long time before he realizes that Sammy probably wasn't actually smiling at him. It doesn't matter, though.
For the first six months of Sam's life, Dean's only job is to keep him entertained. (Dean gives himself the job and his parents think it's adorable.)
After... after, Dean's only job is to keep Sam safe, and he doesn't need his father's orders to do it.
.
"We had a good run, Sammy," Dean says as the hours count down.
"Shut the fuck up," Sam growls, flipping through the book too quickly to actually be reading it. "This isn't the end."
"C'mon," Dean says, reaching out to put his hand on the page, staring at Sam until Sam meets his eyes. "I'm sorry," he begins, and then has to take a few deep breaths to blink back the tears. "I'm sorry that I'm leavin'," he finally says. "But I'm not sorry that you'll outlive me."
"That's the thing, Dean," Sam says, shaking his head, reaching out to grasp Dean's hand as tight as he can. "I didn't outlive you. You brought me back and now you're just..." His face crumples and Dean pulls him in, wraps him up.
It's been a long time since he was bigger than Sammy and he feels every one of those days now. "You'll be alright," he murmurs. "I promise."
As they both pull back, Sam tries smiling for him. "Don't do anything stupid, I mean it," Dean orders, the clock ticking.
Sam's smile flickers before he pastes it back on. "Of course I won't," he lies.
Title: untitled
Original, gen, PG
Prompt: any, any, bad ending
There's so much blood. Metaphorically, anyway. Bleeding out but that's the way it goes.
"Come now, love," that once-beloved voice whispers. "You knew from the beginning, didn't you?" No answer, so again, "Didn't you?"
And it hurts, perhaps more than anything ever has, to answer, "Yes."
Once-beloved, still-beloved… always-beloved, maybe, and that might be what hurts the most.
Title: I’m the lie living for you
Fandom: Fast & Furious
Disclaimer: Brian and Rome aren’t mine; title from Evanescence
Warnings: prejudice, depression, neglect of a child, mostly pre-canon
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 100
Point of view: third
Prompt: any. any. shapeshifter
In this verse
She wishes - but that doesn't matter, does it? There's a beast living inside her little boy, and apparently one lived inside his father, too. If Will had told her - well, if Will had told her, Brian wouldn’t exist. Some days, she thinks that'd be better, but she always feels guilt after.
That guilt is lessening by the day, as Brian keeps getting in more and more fights with that Pearce boy, and from the moment he gets home, Brian changes, letting the beast out, and she just -
He’s not her little boy anymore, if he ever was.
Title: I miss most, even now, his hands
Fandom: Highlander
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Carol Ann Duffy
Warnings: references to death and violence
Pairings: Methos/Byron, Methos/Duncan, Methos/Kronos,
Rating: PGish
Point of view: third
Wordcount: 200
Prompt: Highlander, Methos/Duncan or Caspian or Byron or OMC, a way with his hands
Byron had lovely hands. They were soft when Methos first met him, when all he'd held was a quill and wrote things of such beauty Methos got lost in the words, remembering the way horses danced in moonlight, how the sun shone on sand, or the days when red painted the world.
MacLeod's hands are firm and hard, though lovely, too, and Methos will never again be able to look at them without thinking that Byron's hands are forever stilled.
Why it is Byron's loss instead of Kronos' that haunts him...
There is such beauty that will never again be penned, and he hears Kronos on the wind, feels Kronos against his skin, and perhaps it is that Kronos has not gone at all.
Do you remember the desert, brother, how you taught me so many things? You taught me to kill, to fight, to fly. Three thousand years without you, Methos... and what I missed most, all those decades, was the way you touched me. Do you remember, brother, those years you were mine and mine alone?
"I do, brother," he murmurs, fingers trailing along the blade. He is the only one who remembers, now, and he will never forget.
Title: infinite
Fandom: Highlander/Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: references to violence/death
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 250
Point of view: third
Prompt: Highlander/Buffy, Methos and Dawn, You don't live for 5000 years and remain perfectly sane but Methos knows better than to say anything about the glowing green power that other people think is a girl.
He sees her at Starbucks, of all places, ordering cocoa in the middle of July in the deep south. She's pretty, about the same age he appears to be, and he notices her clock him not long after he notices her. Someone's trained her, then.
She moves like a slayer, he thinks, watching her walk to a table in the corner, where she sets her things. But she's not one.
Oh, no, she is something far older. It's been a long time since he's seen something so powerful out and about. She's chained, though. Shackled in this form, given flesh and blood, bone and attitude - she's a good glare on her. Keeps darting glances at him, trying to camouflage them as taking in the art on the wall.
(His current life is as an interior decorator who has ranted about Starbucks' art before. If he thought she'd let him close, he'd tell her just to hear her laugh. She looks like an excellent laugher.)
Instead, he stays by the counter to wait for his drink, and when it comes, he salutes her with it and leaves. There was a time he would’ve courted her for the power, would’ve broken her and used her. Instead of a continent, he could’ve laid the world bare, taken everything, possibly moved on into other realms not seen in longer than his life.
But those times are gone. For now.
He glances over his shoulder; she’s watching him go. He wonders what she sees.
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: AU for season 3, death, sadness
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 310
Point of view: third
Prompt: SPN: Sam/Dean (Or Sam & Dean), the first and last time Dean saw his brother smile
"C'mere, baby boy, look at your brother," Mama says, hand reaching for Dean.
He still doesn't understand how his little brother got out of Mama's belly but Daddy lifts him up onto the bed and he peers carefully down at Sammy (that's what Mama and Daddy keep calling him). He doesn't look like much, Dean thinks, but he doesn't say it.
And then Sammy smiles. "He's smilin'!" Dean says, utterly entranced, and so he doesn't notice Mama and Daddy grinning at each other, and it'll be a long time before he realizes that Sammy probably wasn't actually smiling at him. It doesn't matter, though.
For the first six months of Sam's life, Dean's only job is to keep him entertained. (Dean gives himself the job and his parents think it's adorable.)
After... after, Dean's only job is to keep Sam safe, and he doesn't need his father's orders to do it.
.
"We had a good run, Sammy," Dean says as the hours count down.
"Shut the fuck up," Sam growls, flipping through the book too quickly to actually be reading it. "This isn't the end."
"C'mon," Dean says, reaching out to put his hand on the page, staring at Sam until Sam meets his eyes. "I'm sorry," he begins, and then has to take a few deep breaths to blink back the tears. "I'm sorry that I'm leavin'," he finally says. "But I'm not sorry that you'll outlive me."
"That's the thing, Dean," Sam says, shaking his head, reaching out to grasp Dean's hand as tight as he can. "I didn't outlive you. You brought me back and now you're just..." His face crumples and Dean pulls him in, wraps him up.
It's been a long time since he was bigger than Sammy and he feels every one of those days now. "You'll be alright," he murmurs. "I promise."
As they both pull back, Sam tries smiling for him. "Don't do anything stupid, I mean it," Dean orders, the clock ticking.
Sam's smile flickers before he pastes it back on. "Of course I won't," he lies.
Title: untitled
Original, gen, PG
Prompt: any, any, bad ending
There's so much blood. Metaphorically, anyway. Bleeding out but that's the way it goes.
"Come now, love," that once-beloved voice whispers. "You knew from the beginning, didn't you?" No answer, so again, "Didn't you?"
And it hurts, perhaps more than anything ever has, to answer, "Yes."
Once-beloved, still-beloved… always-beloved, maybe, and that might be what hurts the most.
Title: I’m the lie living for you
Fandom: Fast & Furious
Disclaimer: Brian and Rome aren’t mine; title from Evanescence
Warnings: prejudice, depression, neglect of a child, mostly pre-canon
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 100
Point of view: third
Prompt: any. any. shapeshifter
In this verse
She wishes - but that doesn't matter, does it? There's a beast living inside her little boy, and apparently one lived inside his father, too. If Will had told her - well, if Will had told her, Brian wouldn’t exist. Some days, she thinks that'd be better, but she always feels guilt after.
That guilt is lessening by the day, as Brian keeps getting in more and more fights with that Pearce boy, and from the moment he gets home, Brian changes, letting the beast out, and she just -
He’s not her little boy anymore, if he ever was.
Title: I miss most, even now, his hands
Fandom: Highlander
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Carol Ann Duffy
Warnings: references to death and violence
Pairings: Methos/Byron, Methos/Duncan, Methos/Kronos,
Rating: PGish
Point of view: third
Wordcount: 200
Prompt: Highlander, Methos/Duncan or Caspian or Byron or OMC, a way with his hands
Byron had lovely hands. They were soft when Methos first met him, when all he'd held was a quill and wrote things of such beauty Methos got lost in the words, remembering the way horses danced in moonlight, how the sun shone on sand, or the days when red painted the world.
MacLeod's hands are firm and hard, though lovely, too, and Methos will never again be able to look at them without thinking that Byron's hands are forever stilled.
Why it is Byron's loss instead of Kronos' that haunts him...
There is such beauty that will never again be penned, and he hears Kronos on the wind, feels Kronos against his skin, and perhaps it is that Kronos has not gone at all.
Do you remember the desert, brother, how you taught me so many things? You taught me to kill, to fight, to fly. Three thousand years without you, Methos... and what I missed most, all those decades, was the way you touched me. Do you remember, brother, those years you were mine and mine alone?
"I do, brother," he murmurs, fingers trailing along the blade. He is the only one who remembers, now, and he will never forget.
Title: infinite
Fandom: Highlander/Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: references to violence/death
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 250
Point of view: third
Prompt: Highlander/Buffy, Methos and Dawn, You don't live for 5000 years and remain perfectly sane but Methos knows better than to say anything about the glowing green power that other people think is a girl.
He sees her at Starbucks, of all places, ordering cocoa in the middle of July in the deep south. She's pretty, about the same age he appears to be, and he notices her clock him not long after he notices her. Someone's trained her, then.
She moves like a slayer, he thinks, watching her walk to a table in the corner, where she sets her things. But she's not one.
Oh, no, she is something far older. It's been a long time since he's seen something so powerful out and about. She's chained, though. Shackled in this form, given flesh and blood, bone and attitude - she's a good glare on her. Keeps darting glances at him, trying to camouflage them as taking in the art on the wall.
(His current life is as an interior decorator who has ranted about Starbucks' art before. If he thought she'd let him close, he'd tell her just to hear her laugh. She looks like an excellent laugher.)
Instead, he stays by the counter to wait for his drink, and when it comes, he salutes her with it and leaves. There was a time he would’ve courted her for the power, would’ve broken her and used her. Instead of a continent, he could’ve laid the world bare, taken everything, possibly moved on into other realms not seen in longer than his life.
But those times are gone. For now.
He glances over his shoulder; she’s watching him go. He wonders what she sees.