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28 February 2010 @ 03:11 pm
February drabble dump, "lawwwl" edition  

Adam/Monica, Regrets (crack)

"I'll bet you regret leaving New Orleans now," Adam said, sipping his glass of wine.

Monica just kept dancing on the table.



Dean/Cas, My Angel

"Don't look now," Sam said, "but I think Cas is stealing your mojo."

Dean looked up from his burger and glanced across the way. A very befuddled Castiel was calmly and slowly answering questions from a huddle of college girls, most of whom were wearing T-shirts that showed off their midriffs. Dean's brow slowly sank to the middle of his forehead.

"Isn't that supposed to be your gig, man? I think you two have been hanging out together too long. He's starting to steal your a--"

Sam trailed off. Dean was long since out of his seat and stalking toward the gathering with the look of death in his eye.

The girl chewing bubble gum was saying, "And do you play a harp, too?"

"No," Castiel said, "although the music in Heaven is quite--"

He was yanked to the side by an extremely pissy Dean. "You told them you were an angel?" he said.

"They seem to think it is a joke," Castiel said.

"Of course they think it's a joke. What's the matter with you?"

"Hey," said bubble-gum girl. "Why don't you leave him alone?"

Dean turned on her, glowering. "Why don't you lay off, Juicy Fruit?"

She put her hands on her hips. "Give me one good reason why I should."

And despite Dean's best effort to say "He's not your type," or "He's got the social graces of a sea urchin," or "You get in a room alone with him and he's going to analyze your daddy issues until you cry, trust me, I've seen it happen," he came out with something completely unexpected.

"Because he's mine, okay?"

And then, horror of horrors, he kept going. "My angel. Not yours. Keep your hands off. Capiche?"

The girl's mouth fell open, and the wad of chewed gum dropped unceremoniously onto her shoe.

"Good. I'm glad we're clear." Feeling sort of like all sense had lost his life, and a little bit like his life finally made sense, Dean steered Castiel away.

Astrid/Walter, cravings

Astrid doesn't think she'll ever grow used to Walter's strange cravings. Caring for an army of pregnant women would be easier than tending to this man, going out for shrimp gyoza at 11 a.m. and standing in front of a mixing bowl fixing green Jell-O at 11 p.m. Then occasionally he requests music, a TV theme from when he was a young man or some big-band classic that she had to search half of Cambridge to find an LP of. And sometimes he had a craving to reread an old book that had long since gone out of print, and Astrid thanked the Lord for the Gutenberg project and all the old bookstores in and around Harvard Square.

It shouldn't have surprised her when he said, "You know what would hit the spot tonight? Some good, old-fashioned whips and chains."

But Astrid spit out her green Jell-o. "What?"

"A dominatrix. You know where I can find a good one? I'd rather like to be spanked tonight. Perhaps they have one of the old-style ones, with the laced-up leather corsets..."

"Walter. Enough."

"Yes. Of course. My apologies." Walter shuffled halfway across the floor and then turned back. "Pardon me for saying so, my dear, but... you would look delightful in leather. Not.. not in that context, but... the material would suit you. Don't mind me. I appear to be babbling."

Astrid tried very hard to be offended. It just wouldn't work. "You have some weird cravings, Walter," she responded, rolling her eyes.

An hour later, though, Astrid found to her great surprise that she was mentally fitting herself for a bustier and garter belt.


Shawn/Lassiter, undercover


"Yes, Lassi?"

"Did you just refer to me as your lover?"

"Yeah. Impromptu disguise. First thing that came to mind. Go with it."

"There is not a situation in the world where I could ever possibly be anything even remotely close to your lover. Not in the world!"

"Shh! Be quiet, Lassi, we're supposed to be undercover! Didn't they teach you how to do that in cop school?"

"I know how to go undercover,"

"Then why are you walking like that? Come on, relax. Put a little gay into it. Swing your hips."

"Swing my hips? Can't I be a manly gay man?"

"It's more realistic this way. Look, this event is all about breaking out of the roles that society has assigned for you. Look at those two. I guarantee you, he is the one who wears the pants in the relationship."

"Neither of them is wearing pants."

"Oh, come on. It's a figure of speech! The point is, just because you're bigger doesn't necessarily mean you top."


"Yes, honey?"

"Did you just say top? As in..."

"That's kind of an obscene hand motion. You better be careful. Someone might take offense."

"So you're telling me that if we're lovers, I would be the one who..."

"Hm. Good question. We should probably get our stories straight. People around here can ask some awfully personal questions."

"I have a personal question for you."

"Oh, really? Shoot."

"How do you so much about this stuff?"

"Because I'm a psychic. Duh."

"...I'm asking the Chief for combat pay for this one."


Becky/Chuck, Dean/Castiel, the truth

"So I was thinking," Becky said as she came in the door, carrying the box of leftover books, "about Sam and Dean."

"You're always thinking about Sam and Dean."

"No, I mean at the convention. They were awfully tense, weren't they? They kept looking at each other, and muttering and things..."

"Yeah." Chuck set down the rolled-up banners and stretched. "They tend to be that way."

"You didn't see it?"

"See what?"

She grabbed both his hands. "Them. It's totally canon!"


"Them!" Her smile was just batty enough to be beautiful. "They're totally a couple!"

"What?" Chuck stumbled backward. "You mean, you mean, like that Web site, like that fanfic?"

"Not Just Brothers Dot Net!" she chirped.

"No. No, no, no, you've got it all wrong." He ran his fingers through his hair nervously. "I told you, I see it. It's all in my head. I think I would have seen that. And then put a bullet through my brain," he added in a mutter.

"Maybe you just repressed it. Maybe your archangel's just picking and choosing what you see."

"No. No, OK? It's not happening. It's not true."

"Prove it."


"Go into one of your trances. Ask the Powers that Be."

"No, no, Becky, look, I don't have to, I know." He heaved a sigh. "Look, I wasn't going to tell you this, but..."

A look of dread crossed her face and her voice dropped an octave and a half. "What?"

"I told you, I stopped writing the books, but I've kept having the visions. You know. About angels. And stuff."

"I know, you promised me I could read some of your unpublished manuscripts. Don't forget, sweetie."

"Yeah." Chuck paced the length of the room and came back. "That's just the thing. You're not totally wrong. About their.... um... inclinations."

"Inclinations?" She said the four syllables on four separate tones.

"There's this angel, right? Who raised Dean from Hell. And he's, um... well, you might want to sit down."

Thirty seconds later, the entire house shook with the force of Becky's shriek.

Matt/Mohinder, your daughter

The smell got to him first. Pancakes, Mohinder's nose sang to him. Wake up, pancakes, pancakes. He opened his eyes and sat up. Yes, that was definitely the aroma of pancakes. Matt was still in bed beside him. So how...

A short walk down the hall and he knew the answer.


By the time Matt had jumped out of bed and hustled down the hall, Mohinder was already slumped against the wall in defeat.

The counter was spattered with lumps of cream-colored mush. Flour dusted the walls around the mixer, which looked like it'd taken a bath in the stuff. A frying pan sat in a suds-filled sink, waving its handle in a desperate bid to be saved from its watery fate. And in the middle of it, brandishing both a wooden spoon and a guilty grin, was Molly.

"Look what your daughter has done," moaned Mohinder, his head in his hands.

"My daughter?"

Mohinder never passed up an opportunity to get peevish. "Clearly this is your influence," he said, peeking up from between his fingers. "You're the master chef in the family."

Matt huffed. "This, this is not cooking. This is a science experiment. This is her taking after you, not me."

"Because I never clean up afterward."

"Like I don't! When have you not come home to a spotless kitchen?"

"Well, there was that time last week--"

"I was called out on emergency. You can't hold that over my head!"


Molly raised the wooden spoon as though she were going to slap them with it. They both turned and stood up straight as a pair of soldiers.

"Pancakes. Table. NOW."

They marched wordlessly over to the table, and the cheerful display of pancakes, syrup, plates, and placemats -- complete with full glasses of orange juice and a dried flower on each plate -- stunned them into another minute of shocked silence.

"You two eat while I clean up. Honestly." She rolled her eyes, then rolled up her sleeves, then reached into the soapy sink and started scrubbing.

Matt beamed at her. "That's my girl."

"Your girl!?"


Fringe team, OK for whom?

It involved a rabbit, electrodes, several substances of dubious legality, and a terrarium. That's pretty much all Olivia could figure out about it. But into the lurch leapt Instructor Mode Walter, there to save the day. "Oh, Agent Dunham. How good of you to come. We're nearly ready to proceed. I have just strapped the rabbit up to the heart monitor. Now, if my theory is correct, when we begin the dosing, the heart will quite literally speed up to the point where the rabbit will continue to run even after it has reached the wall of the enclosure..."

"Why a rabbit?" Olivia glanced over at Astrid.

"Something about the chemistry. He says he thinks there was rabbit DNA in the victims' arterial walls." Astrid delivered the news with a wrinkle of the nose and a pout.

"So somebody was experimenting on them?"

Peter's presence was warm behind her. "Would that be such a surprise?"

She turned. "No, I guess not. It's one thing to experiment on mice, but... you really think this is OK, what we're doing?"

Peter shrugged and glanced over at the terrarium, where the poor drugged bunny was starting to literally bang its head against the wall. "I guess that depends if you mean OK with us or OK with the rabbit."

Sam, Dean, Star Trek

"Does it ever occur to you that we're like the freaking Enterprise?"

"What? That's such a dorky thing to say, I don't even."

"No, check us out. Our continuing mission to seek out new life and new scumbags to hunt, to boldly go..."

"Oh God, stop. So what does that make me? Kirk, right? I have to be Kirk."

"And I'm Spock?"

"Well, that sounds just about right. You're the brainy one."

"Oh, thanks. So you think I've got no emotions. "

"I didn't say that. I can't believe we're having this conversation, by the way."

"Well, I can't be Spock."

"Why not?"

"Because Cas is quite obviously Spock."


"I'm right. Aren't I right? Of course I'm right."

"Then who are you? You're the babe, right? The Nichelle Nichols character?"


"See, you're a dork. You even know the names."

"You knew Kirk and Spock."

"Well, Kirk and Spock are different."

"Different how?"

"What do you mean, how? Everybody knows them."

"You knew it was Nichelle Nichols."

"Whatever. I have a memory for babes."


"But if I'm Kirk and you're Nichelle Nichols does that mean we-- No, no, you have to think of someone else for you to be."

"I'll be Kirk then."

"You can't be Kirk, I'm Kirk."

"All right-- I'll be Chekov, then. Brilliant whiz kid. You'd like him."

"That works better."

"I think you're more like Bones than Kirk, though."

"You're just saying that cause you want to be Kirk."

"I do not. I'm serious, you're just like Bones. A total grouch."

"Aw, screw you."

"See what I mean?"


Uriel, A Cruel Angel's Hypothesis

Uriel has long watched the mud monkeys, trying to figure out why in Heaven God would favor them so flagrantly over His other creations. He's come up with a number of ideas, and each time, he's had them shot down.

At first he thought perhaps the humans were stronger than angels. But that clearly wasn't the case. Humans get sick, they get frail, and they get old. Eventually they die. Angels are immortal. And even in their prime of life, humans have no physical advantage. Uriel doesn't need to take the vessel of a champion to know he can smite them without so much as a breath. God is strong. Angels are strong. Humans are not even in the same league.

Then he thought, maybe it isn't their bodies but their brains. Perhaps humans are smarter than angels. This hypothesis stood up a little longer under scrutiny -- consider humans' affinity for science, art, architecture -- but even that theory fell apart after seeing just how foolishly humans acted under the simplest of situations. How they threw away the things that really mattered, how they praised idiocy and scorned intellect. If God was looking for a creature more intelligent than an angel, a human would surely be a let-down.

Maybe, he thought, maybe it was their heart. Maybe it was humans' depth of feeling, their kindness and their compassion that draws God to them. God's love encompasses all, and angels love Him, but humans are capable of love as well. Perhaps their love is deeper, wider, more universal than that of the heavenly host. This, too, seemed to hold up for a while. But wars after wars broke out, and hearts broke, and such needless cruelty ensued, and Uriel saw another hypothesis shot down.

So what was it, then? What trait did the humans have that drew God's love so singularly, that left angels so lost and so abandoned in a world over which they should by all rights have domain?

After centuries of pondering, Uriel found the answer. And the answer freed him to pursue his aims, to seek out the justice that had long, long been denied him. He was foolish to have not seen it before, actually. Humans and God had something in common that no angel could share.

They were clearly both insane.


Dean, Castiel, Sam, he's mute

"Wait. He's what?"

"Dumb. I mean, mute."

A frown.

"And he's not happy about it, either."

"Well, that's just great." Sam ran his fingers through his hair. "How are we supposed to cast this spell without his help?"

A pout.

Dean patted Castiel on the shoulder encouragingly and turned to Sam. "He can still help."


Castiel frowned at the table. His eyes, laser sights, focused on a dark-tinted crystal, then a sprig of witch hazel.

"This one, here?" Dean said, picking it up. Sam looked at him like he'd lost his mind.

Castiel nodded. He looked across the room at the sink.

"We have to get it wet." A frown. "No, not wet. Submerge it in water. OK." Dean crossed the room.

"What the hell, are you reading his mind or something?" Sam was goggling at this point.

Castiel gave Sam a face that defied description. Dean didn't even look around before saying, "He doesn't know why that ticks him off, dude, but it does."

Sam put his hands up in surrender. Clearly he would just not be in on this communication loop. The problem wasn't Cas being dumb; the problem was apparently Sam being deaf.


Sam/Gabriel, skinny-dipping

Three things Sam knows right now:

1) He's naked.
2) It's fucking cold.
3) He's not alone.

Number 2 is due to the lake water rippling in the slight night breeze. Number 1 and Number 3 are both the fault of a certain bastard of an archangel who is sitting on a knoll just above the water's edge, looking down at him.

Sam sputters and treads water. "Damn it, Gabriel! Are you trying to drown me?"

"I'd be doing a piss-poor job of it," says Gabriel. He's picking at blades of grass, "You seem to be doing fine."

"Where the hell are my clothes?" Sam tries to swim to the side.

"Where did I leave those?" Gabriel raises his eyes to the heavens. "Taiwan, I think. Or maybe it was Thailand. I get those two mixed up all the time."

"Damn it!" Sam's teeth are chattering. He could waste a lot of time sitting here being exasperated and infuriated, but he knows Gabriel well enough by now to know that is a waste of time. "What is the point of this, exactly?"

Gabriel rolls onto his stomach in the grass. "Well, Samster, the last time I came on to you, you told me I leave you cold. I thought I'd give you a taste of what that would really mean."

Sam's already glommed on to his meaning. "If you leave me here, Gabriel, I swear, never again."

Gabriel laughs. "Oh, don't you worry. I'm having too much fun watching your perky little nipples to disappear on you now." He made a pinching gesture with his fingers.

For a minute, Sam stays still, just keeping his limbs moving. Then, his mouth turns upward. "It's not so bad, you know," he says. "You should come join me."

Gabriel looks at him warily. Sam puts on his biggest smile. "Come on, Gabriel. Live a little."

"Oh, ho, that sounds like a challenge." Gabriel gets up, does something weird to reality, and instantly he's naked and flying through the air. Sam shields his eyes from the splash.

The next minute, Gabriel is shuddering and treading water and shrieking, "Son of a bitch!" and Sam is laughing his butt off. In a few minutes the banter will probably escalate into heat, but right now, it's great being freezing.
pandapandatini on February 28th, 2010 08:41 pm (UTC)
Sam put his hands up in surrender. Clearly he would just not be in on this communication loop. The problem wasn't Cas being dumb; the problem was apparently Sam being deaf.

Dean speaks Castiel. I love it.
Tiptoe39: dean/castiptoe39 on February 28th, 2010 09:10 pm (UTC)
Yes, he does. Those eyefucking sessions of theirs were actually language labs. :D
(Deleted comment)
Tiptoe39: relax bitchestiptoe39 on February 28th, 2010 09:10 pm (UTC)
I know, me too! you know Dean would be all "HEY HANDS OFF MAH ANGEL"

also, icon love. :D
Ms Dref: Bondaaaagedref22 on February 28th, 2010 09:29 pm (UTC)
OMG I love the Fringe ones! Astrid/Walter one is awesome! I totally could see Walter saying those things, lol.
Tiptoe39: fringetiptoe39 on February 28th, 2010 09:33 pm (UTC)
You do like the May/December romances, don't you? And Walter = total and utter win all the time. I love quirky characters like him.. they're easy for me to write for whatever reason :) Glad you enjoyed!
Ms Dref: Bennetsdref22 on February 28th, 2010 10:20 pm (UTC)
This may come as a surprise to you, but I don't ship anyone on Fringe (well, yet)!!! :D Oh, Astrid/Walter, lol, I never thought of that! *head desk*

Oh, I adore Walter. He's one of my fave characters on TV atm.
Tiptoe39: fringetiptoe39 on February 28th, 2010 10:21 pm (UTC)
the other members of my polyamorous wife cult ship walter/astrid so bad. It's hysterical. :D

I'm easy and like Olivia and Peter. (And Olivia/Sam Weiss, but he hasn't showed up in a while.)
Ms Dref: papabear extraordinairedref22 on February 28th, 2010 10:28 pm (UTC)
I'm still watching the first season and I'm afraid I might join that polyamorous wife cult of yours very soon. And yeah, being a fan of May/December makes things easy! :D
The Sarcastic Kitty: Alice_2010oresteia on February 28th, 2010 09:37 pm (UTC)
Oh Lassie would so bottom.
Tiptoe39: LOL - Marstiptoe39 on February 28th, 2010 09:45 pm (UTC)
Yes. Yes, he would. LAWL.
Kevin Jonesmulder200 on February 28th, 2010 09:53 pm (UTC)
I loved that you are sharing all these lovely drabbles with us. Sweet!