Drabble-rama!
(SPN, Bobby/Ruby: Divide and Conquer)
“Trick is,” she says, leaning over his vice and filing down the firing pin. “To buff the sides first, then flatten the head.”
The older man stares blankly, not trusting her in least, but begrudgingly letting her help with the colt and not asking just where she learning how to fix guns.
“It’s not just the firing mechanism,” she goes on. “It’s a magically adept pistol, you have to know what spell to recast.” She looks up at him. “And I’m guessing you have no idea.”
“I suppose you do?” He answers gruffly.
She can’t help the smirk, the confidence radiating from her in waves, annoyingly so by his reaction.
“Going to put it on the gun this time,” she says. “That way you cowboys don’t run out of bullets anymore.”
Eyes narrowing at her, the suspicion shooting out like laser beams. “What are you getting out of this?”
She smiles, slow and calculating. “No one wants a war,” she starts carefully, “and as much as it pains me to admit it, I can’t do it on my own.”
“This,” she says nodding down at the colt. “Is a peace offering.”
She watches the realization slowly dawn on his weathered face.
“I doubt that either one of them wi-”
“Oh they’ll play,” she assures. “Especially when I make nice.”
“Dean won’t,” Bobby replies flatly.
She can’t help but grin. Even this pseudo-father figure of theirs knows that Dean isn’t an issue. That Sam is more susceptible and willing to listen. Bobby folds his arms over his chest, keeping the glare locked and firm.
He knows what she’s planning, mostly, that she’ll latch onto Sam with pretty promises to stop the end of all things. That his brother will object, and it will all be a tricky-tricky game of divide and conquer.
She finishes with the colt, assembles it as quickly as she can, and looks at him once again.
“I say it’s time for a test.”
/\/\/\
(GG, Chuck/Eric: Heart, Control)
The last thing Eric expects, stumbling into the apartment a little past one, lips swollen in an over affectionate way, is to find Chuck sitting on the couch.
In the dark.
By himself.
The glass of scotch perched in his hand, however, is no surprise at all. The fact that it appears to be untouched, is slightly.
Eric knows him well enough to see the do not disturb sign posted for all to see.
Whatever this is, he knows, is about Blair. Another game of hit and miss, the emotional fallout burning a hole in both of them.
It must have been huge this time.
He’ll deny it, should Eric actually ask what’s wrong. Should he actually say he knows anyway.
Because he’s Chuck Bass.
Because he needs to be in control of everything, especially when it comes to his heart.
Thing is, he gets sloppy with Eric. He lets his guard down and his secrets spill because he knows the other boy will keep them under lock and key, because when Eric outed himself Chuck kept mum.
He takes a step forward, to offer him, what? Something. At the very least, because that’s what friends, family, do.
“Chuck,” he starts, the older boy still making no move of acknowledgment. “Do you ne-”
“While I appreciate you candor,” Chuck interrupts. “I’m in no mood to dish like girlfriends.”
Eric cracks a smile, expecting nothing less than the normal sarcastic reaction to unexpected pity of sitting in the dark.
He starts toward his bedroom, knowing if Chuck actually wants to talk about whatever happened, he’ll come knocking.
Turning back once more at the top of the steps, Chuck lifts a hand goodnight, swirling his drink around and never taking a sip.
(True Blood, Tara/Lafayette: Blood and dirt)
Dumb as doghshit, she thinks.
All his talk of a ticket out of this backwoods hell hole. All his talk of being rich and famous. Posing in front of a webcam for every sick, weirdo, pervert on the internet. Fucking a state senator on top of all that.
Dealing every little drug he could get his hands on. Dealing in god damn vampire blood.
No doubt in her mind it’s how he ended up like this.
How they found him sprawled out in the back seat of whoever the fuck’s car this is, body still and covered in blood and dirt.
Stupid mother fucker, she thinks. Stupid, idiotic, dipshit mother fucker!
Went out and got himself dead, and for what?
For what?
Tears fall before she can stop them; the ache in her chest so palpable it feels like her heart may explode.
Grabbing Sookie’s hand, she squeezes while it breaks instead.
“Trick is,” she says, leaning over his vice and filing down the firing pin. “To buff the sides first, then flatten the head.”
The older man stares blankly, not trusting her in least, but begrudgingly letting her help with the colt and not asking just where she learning how to fix guns.
“It’s not just the firing mechanism,” she goes on. “It’s a magically adept pistol, you have to know what spell to recast.” She looks up at him. “And I’m guessing you have no idea.”
“I suppose you do?” He answers gruffly.
She can’t help the smirk, the confidence radiating from her in waves, annoyingly so by his reaction.
“Going to put it on the gun this time,” she says. “That way you cowboys don’t run out of bullets anymore.”
Eyes narrowing at her, the suspicion shooting out like laser beams. “What are you getting out of this?”
She smiles, slow and calculating. “No one wants a war,” she starts carefully, “and as much as it pains me to admit it, I can’t do it on my own.”
“This,” she says nodding down at the colt. “Is a peace offering.”
She watches the realization slowly dawn on his weathered face.
“I doubt that either one of them wi-”
“Oh they’ll play,” she assures. “Especially when I make nice.”
“Dean won’t,” Bobby replies flatly.
She can’t help but grin. Even this pseudo-father figure of theirs knows that Dean isn’t an issue. That Sam is more susceptible and willing to listen. Bobby folds his arms over his chest, keeping the glare locked and firm.
He knows what she’s planning, mostly, that she’ll latch onto Sam with pretty promises to stop the end of all things. That his brother will object, and it will all be a tricky-tricky game of divide and conquer.
She finishes with the colt, assembles it as quickly as she can, and looks at him once again.
“I say it’s time for a test.”
/\/\/\
(GG, Chuck/Eric: Heart, Control)
The last thing Eric expects, stumbling into the apartment a little past one, lips swollen in an over affectionate way, is to find Chuck sitting on the couch.
In the dark.
By himself.
The glass of scotch perched in his hand, however, is no surprise at all. The fact that it appears to be untouched, is slightly.
Eric knows him well enough to see the do not disturb sign posted for all to see.
Whatever this is, he knows, is about Blair. Another game of hit and miss, the emotional fallout burning a hole in both of them.
It must have been huge this time.
He’ll deny it, should Eric actually ask what’s wrong. Should he actually say he knows anyway.
Because he’s Chuck Bass.
Because he needs to be in control of everything, especially when it comes to his heart.
Thing is, he gets sloppy with Eric. He lets his guard down and his secrets spill because he knows the other boy will keep them under lock and key, because when Eric outed himself Chuck kept mum.
He takes a step forward, to offer him, what? Something. At the very least, because that’s what friends, family, do.
“Chuck,” he starts, the older boy still making no move of acknowledgment. “Do you ne-”
“While I appreciate you candor,” Chuck interrupts. “I’m in no mood to dish like girlfriends.”
Eric cracks a smile, expecting nothing less than the normal sarcastic reaction to unexpected pity of sitting in the dark.
He starts toward his bedroom, knowing if Chuck actually wants to talk about whatever happened, he’ll come knocking.
Turning back once more at the top of the steps, Chuck lifts a hand goodnight, swirling his drink around and never taking a sip.
(True Blood, Tara/Lafayette: Blood and dirt)
Dumb as doghshit, she thinks.
All his talk of a ticket out of this backwoods hell hole. All his talk of being rich and famous. Posing in front of a webcam for every sick, weirdo, pervert on the internet. Fucking a state senator on top of all that.
Dealing every little drug he could get his hands on. Dealing in god damn vampire blood.
No doubt in her mind it’s how he ended up like this.
How they found him sprawled out in the back seat of whoever the fuck’s car this is, body still and covered in blood and dirt.
Stupid mother fucker, she thinks. Stupid, idiotic, dipshit mother fucker!
Went out and got himself dead, and for what?
For what?
Tears fall before she can stop them; the ache in her chest so palpable it feels like her heart may explode.
Grabbing Sookie’s hand, she squeezes while it breaks instead.