tigriswolf | drabbles: Magnificent Seven, Supernatural, Leverage

Title: I will tell ye now what never yet was heard in tale or song
Fandom: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Milton.
Warnings: stream-of-consciousness; depressing
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 170
Point of view: third
Notes: I’ve been reading far too many “Ezra is underappreciated, if he’s appreciated at all” fics. *shrugs*

It’d be easy to give up, and he has considered it (more than once), and sometimes he wonders why he keeps trying and fighting and killing instead of just dying. It’d only take once, not dodging or firing back. A single mistake and it’d all be over, the conning and the masking and the lying. The judgment and blame would be gone, lost in blackness and blood. He might even be able to sleep, to dream something without fire and pain and hot blood cooling to a cloying puddle of rust. He might have laughter and smiles in place of silence and smirks. It’d be easier than enduring, giving in would, and he is so very tired of being strong, bleeding and bruising for people who don’t thank him and still think him lesser.

He refuses, though. He is a survivor, and he’s lasted this long. He plays the odds, manipulating them with finesse, and he’ll keep playing them, if only to spite all those waiting for him to fail.

Title: that which no man foretold
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Emerson
Warnings: future!fic; probably AU; spoilers for aired season 5; character death
Pairings: none stated
Wordcount: 525
Point of view: third
Notes: layne67 , I’m still working on what you requested—this isn’t it.

Dean holds out until just after dusk, but with the sun goes his will. And that’s when Michael visits again.

“Dean,” he murmurs, smiling sadly, crouching down by Dean’s side. “Just say yes. We’ll cleanse this world of the taint and My Father will start anew. It will be glorious, as it was at the Garden, in the beginning.”

Dean’s eyes are on the corner, on the body shoved there, scrunched up and broken. Lucifer’s vessel is completely out of reach, the devil blocked by some mojo only Michael is strong enough to generate.

Why Michael healed Sam in the past if he’d always planned this, Dean doesn’t know. Doesn’t care. His answer is the same it’s always been, and this time his determination is backed by grief and fury and hatred.

Sam got burned up by God’s Sword, so there’s nothing to even bargain for.

“You might as well kill me, too,” Dean tells him. “I’ll never consent.”

“Even now you remain selfishly stubborn?” Michael asks. “Billions have died, will continue to die. Why do you refuse to do God’s will?”

Sammy used to pray, Dean knows. He stopped after Dean went to Hell, but when he learned that an angel saved Dean, he started up again. Then he met Uriel and stopped for good, cold turkey.

“You’re not their savior,” Dean says. “You’ll kill them all, everyone your brother hasn’t already destroyed.”

Michael shakes his head. “You’re a fool, Dean Winchester,” he pronounces, grabbing Dean’s neck and rising to his feet, holding Dean with ease. “You’re a fool, but you’re the vessel I need, so say yes to me.”

“Never,” Dean hisses. “Kill the world, I don’t care. My world is already dead.”

Michael casts him aside. “Then stay here,” he commands. “Stay here with your darling little Sammy. When you change your mind, call me.”

As Michael leaves, he takes the light. Dean slowly stands, back to the wall, and feels for one of the sigils Michael burned into the stone. Eyes closed, Dean uses his pocketknife to destroy Michael’s mark.

Lucifer arrives immediately and leans next to Dean. “What do you want?” he asks. By the light Lucifer makes, Dean sees him avoid looking at Sam.

“Your brother killed my brother,” Dean says. “Can you fix him?”

Lucifer shakes his head. His vessel is crumbling around him, but Dean stares into his eyes, unafraid.

Nothing scares him anymore.

“Michael completely eradicated your—your brother.” Lucifer says it gently, compassionately. “I can’t—only the Tyrant could restore him. I’d try for a hundred years and fail.”

Dean drops to his knees, falls back against the wall. “I don’t care about the world anymore,” he says. “I just want to hurt Michael and His Father.” Lucifer crouches down before him as Dean continues, “Can you help me do that?”

“Yes,” Lucifer promises. “If you consent we can tear Michael apart, together. I’ll keep you awake for it.”

Dean nods, gaze drifting to Sammy. “After, whatever happens, can you destroy me? I don’t—I don’t want to exist anymore.”

Lucifer swears, “As you ask, Dean Winchester, so shall it be.”

And Dean says, “Yes.”

Title: and that was his funeral
Fandom: Leverage
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Whitman
Warnings: spoilers for 2.13
Pairings: none stated
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 390
Point of view: third

His name was Bobby Parker and he was six years old. Her name was Bethany Marshall and she’d just turned eight. Bobby had never been on a bike before, so Bethany taught him how to ride. She even borrowed their foster parents’ actual kid’s bike for the day.

Neither Bobby nor Bethany saw the car rocketing around the corner, and the driver didn’t see them. He wasn’t drunk or high or exhausted. He was just in a hurry.

Bobby died on impact and the driver stayed with Bethany until the paramedics arrived. She sobbed in his arms and was moved to a new place before learning what happened to him. She never even knew his name.

After that, Bethany Marshall kept to herself and quit trying to be friends with people. When she finally took herself out of the system, she changed her name so that she wouldn’t ever forget.

Hardison sometimes reminds her of Bobby Parker. He has the same joyful, carefree laugh. She wants to laugh along, and pull him close, and keep him from ever leaving.

So when the skeevy fake psychic tears open her wound for the whole world to see, Parker isn’t ashamed of running away, or of her tears. But she is so angry that she knows she’d kill him if he stood in front of her right now.

She wants to hug Hardison. More than that, she wants to cuddle Bobby, but he’s been dead for twenty years. So she’ll settle for destroying the fake’s credibility and his career.

And after the case is over, after she and Hardison give the lady all that money, she goes back to that road and sits on the grass and remembers laughing with Bobby. Teaching him to ride a bike and pick a pocket. Sharing stolen cookies. Cuddling after lights out and whispering the lullabies she can barely recall her mother singing.

She isn’t surprised when Hardison plops on one side of her and Eliot silently settles on the other.

“You okay?” Hardison asks softly.

Parker wipes her eyes. “Yeah,” she says. “But I want to steal something.”

Eliot says, “We can do that.”

Bobby died on this road. Sometimes, when she thinks about it, Parker knows she was born here.

It wasn’t a fair trade, but she’ll make do, with these brothers who love her.

drabbles: Magnificent Seven, Supernatural, Leverage

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