ficlets: SN, WC/HL, Leverage/HL
Title: myth is truer than history
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Cleanth Brooks
Warnings: pre-series
Pairings: Sam/Jessica; a smidge of implied Dean/Sam
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 240
Point of view: third
Prompt: pursuit
Sam didn’t play hard-to-get, exactly. But he went from fantasizing about school and a non-hunting life to living one. And the reality both exceeded and failed his expectations.
His freshman year was spent in a constant state of wariness. He waited to see Dean or Dad every day, and wasn’t sure if he should be disappointed or relieved they never show.
He worked sixteen hour days over the summer and saved money. He grew two inches and thirty pounds. He slowly settled, quit checking for threats. He got in one fight and it was almost too easy to win.
Sam met Jessica his sophomore year. She sat next to him in one of his English classes, maked funny comments, and doodled on his notes. He tried shifting away and she followed. Finally, after the second week, Sam asked, “Can I help you?” in a mix of exasperated brother and angry hunter.
She grinned. “Go out with me.”
Sam looked at her-bright hazel eyes, bouncy blonde hair, tall, and fit. Gorgeous. Her smile was so beautiful.
“Okay,” he said.
No, Sam didn’t play hard-to-get. He fell for Jessica quickly and completely, and she made him laugh. She accepted his half-assed explanations for things that couldn’t be explained. With her around all the time, he quit looking for Dean.
Then one night, Dean broke in and all the old scars ripped right open. Some nights, Sam didn’t even regret it.
-
Title: Remembered, if outlived
Fandom: White Collar/Highlander
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Dickinson
Warnings: pre-series for White Collar; implied past child abuse
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 410
Point of view: third
Prompt: immortal
As a kid, the boy who would be Neal Caffrey wanted what all kids want: to live forever. Barring that, he wanted to be remembered. It didn’t matter for what.
A man calling himself Matthew picked Neal up one winter night. “You have potential,” Matthew told him. “You’ll be great.”
Neal expected to be put to work, either his mouth or his ass, but Matthew signed him up for school and taught him about culture and took him fun places like art galleries and museums.
In the six years Neal spent with him, Matthew never changed. He was always firm, but neither kind nor gentle. He always expected the best, so that’s what Neal gave him. Neal learned to fight with blades and his fists, and to fire and care for guns. He leaned all the tricks of forgery and confidence schemes.
When Neal was thirteen, he witnessed a duel between Matthew and a very angry woman. The woman-Cassandra, Matthew called her-screamed horrible things, but it wasn’t until she said, I’ll take the boy and teach him the truth about you, that Matthew quit playing with her.
Matthew held his sword with one hand and pulled a gun with the other. He shot Cassandra between the eyes and watched emotionlessly as she fell. Once she was down, Matthew swung the sword, taking her head.
Neal couldn’t look away. Matthew hid the weapons, swiftly moving to Neal, and pulled him close, led him to safety.
That night, Matthew explained about immortals and rules and forever. Neal wasn’t one, he said, but Neal had caught his attention, a smartass kid, and he had to take Neal under his wing.
Matthew never told Neal how old he was. But Neal learned three martial arts, seven languages, and tricks that not even Mozzie would know when they met.
Neal left when he was sixteen, with the promise to call if he ever found too much trouble to handle. Matthew said he’d check in now and again, and that Neal would one day be a legend.
As a boy, Neal had imagined living forever. But all he really wanted was to be remembered.
Matthew would remember him. As long as he lived, Matthew would remember the scared, angry kid he took in, and the greatness he saw in the kid’s blue eyes.
Neal’d never know how old Matthew was, but he was sure that if anyone could live forever, Matthew would.
-
Title: tyrants tend gardens
Fandom: Highlander/Leverage
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Betsy Sholl
Warnings: future!fic for both
Pairings: post-Methos/Eliot
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 355
Point of view: third
Prompt: irony
A job goes south. Everyone gets out but Parker, and Eliot is about to go back in for her when a familiar voice comes over the com: “Hello, little thief.”
Eliot freezes. The others are silent. Parker says, “You have pretty eyes.”
Methos-holy fuck, Methos, goddamnit all to hell-laughs. “You’re lucky I was on shift today,” he purrs, and that tone, that tone. Eliot remembers that tone. he loved and hated and worshipped and feared that tone. “Little thief,” Methos says, “if you get to the roof in the next two minutes, I’ll let you go.”
Parker says, “You’ll get in trouble,” even as the others and Eliot yell, “Parker, GO!”
Methos laughs again, and Eliot shivers. “This job has grown boring anyway, my dear. Your little break-in is the most excitement in years.” A pause, then, “Half a minute gone, little thief.”
“Okay,” Parker says.
Silence except for her breath. Eliot meets her on the neighboring roof and initiates his first hug in a long time. He doesn’t say, goddamnit, girl, you got any idea how lucky you are? or, fuck, fuck, he’s alive, of course he’s alive, or we’re all taking a vacation for the next year.
He can feel the buzz now, and knows the Old Man is letting him. Couldn’t feel it before. Had no idea. Would never have let the team take this job if he knew.
Methos is laughing at him.
Eliot doesn’t say, if it had been anyone else, you’d be dead. Methos has always had a soft spot for the broken. His favorites were the ones he broke himself, but he’d be able to see how special Parker is. And he’d let her go. Any human guards, any other immortal…
But Death had her in his grasp, and Parker and Hardison and Sophie and Nate have no idea.
Death had her and let her go, and Eliot wants to yell at them all, the foolish, lucky children, and he can’t, and he knows the Old Man is laughing at him about it.
Fuck it. He’s taking them all on vacation, whether they want to go or not.