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Lucky Shot
(SPN)Sammy's first kill...
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
deirdre_c
363 words.
--
Dean sat up slowly. Mindful of the cracked rib because about three seconds ago, there’d been a werewolf standing on him, breathing fetid air into his face. Dean was expecting to see his father standing at the edge of the clearing like an avenging angel but instead, there was a log that Dean remembered tripping over right at a very crucial moment and two small, sneakered feet sticking up into the air on the other side.
“Sammy?” Dean hazarded. Smoke drifted up from behind the log in a low and lazy curl that Dean probably wouldn’t have been able to see if it hadn’t been right on dawn.
“Did I get it?” a high and shaky sounding voice queried and the sneakers disappeared. The next moment a shaggy head and two wide eyes rose into view.
“What did you think you were doing,” Dean demanded, his fear for what might have happened making his voice go shrill with barely contained panic. “Dad’s going to kick our asses!”
“But Dean-!” Sammy started to protest. All of eight years old and holding Dean’s sawn-off that had been knocked out of his hands. And oh geez, now Dean was getting treated to a lip-tremble of epic proportions.
“You were supposed to stay in the damn car,” Dean snapped, getting carefully to his feet. The pain was incredible but he knew his dad had busted his ribs loads of times and had never been a baby about it. Dean bit down on his lip until he could stand upright without feeling like he was going to keel over.
“Don’t swear,” Sammy said automatically.
“C’mon. Let’s get you back to the car before Dad sees you,” Dean urged, stepping carefully over the fallen log and herding Sammy along.
“Did I miss?” Sammy asked. “I thought he was gonna eat you.”
Dean looked back towards the clearing and the very dead and now very human-looking werewolf lying sprawled at the base of a tree. Wide, sightless eyes stared up into the sky. Sammy was mercifully spared the view because of his shorter stature and the obscuring tall grass.
“Yeah,” Dean said. “But lucky for me you scared it off.”
--
Many Hands Make Quick Work
(SGA)John/Rodney's first time making cupcakes...and kissing...
Forbarely_bean
396 words.
--
“This is so stupid.”
John looks at the row of brightly coloured cupcakes and then back at Rodney and rolls his eyes. “You could have decided that before we made a hundred and fifty of ‘em,” he points out, wiping his icing bag off with a thumb and popping it into his mouth. John’s pretty sure he now has more icing in his belly that has been used on the cupcakes in their entirety and he’s starting to get the unpleasant sensation that he’s just tipped over that mythical line between being pleasantly sugar intoxicated and just plain sick. “It was your idea.”
“It was brilliant when it was an idea,” Rodney sniffs. “Now in practice…” he flails a hand for a moment. “Not so much.”
“We promised Teyla we’d actually make something for the festival,” John points out. His stomach burbles piteously and he grimaces. “A large bowl of potato salad wasn’t going to cut it.”
“The kids are going to be all over us, and they won’t even get it,” Rodney tries, dropping onto one of the steel kitchen stools and his shoulders slump. “They’re just going to stuff their little faces, slip into sugar-induced comas and not get it.”
“What’s to get?” John asks. He kind of shuffles away a little when Rodney spins on his stool, glaring at him.
“It’s PI!” Rodney exclaims, hands going up in the air. “To two hundred places… or will be when we get the last fifty done.”
John looks back at the rows of cupcakes, scrubs a hand over his head and then looks back at Rodney. “Oh, huh,” he snorts.
“You didn’t know?” Rodney demands. “What did you think we were icing numbers on them for in a very specific order?”
“I just thought you were being… odd,” John ventures and ducks the wooden spoon hurled at his head with a “Hey!” of protest.
“Why do I bother putting up with you?” Rodney huffs, getting up and making for the table. John snags his belt-loop on his was past and reels him in. He plants a kiss on Rodney, quick and moist and half-open mouthed and then releases him. Rodney kind of stumbles away and both hands come up and flail around a little more.
“Oh, huh,” he says and then dives for John, who is just about to devour a ‘4’ and ruin everything.
(SPN)Sammy's first kill...
For
deirdre_c 363 words.
--
Dean sat up slowly. Mindful of the cracked rib because about three seconds ago, there’d been a werewolf standing on him, breathing fetid air into his face. Dean was expecting to see his father standing at the edge of the clearing like an avenging angel but instead, there was a log that Dean remembered tripping over right at a very crucial moment and two small, sneakered feet sticking up into the air on the other side.
“Sammy?” Dean hazarded. Smoke drifted up from behind the log in a low and lazy curl that Dean probably wouldn’t have been able to see if it hadn’t been right on dawn.
“Did I get it?” a high and shaky sounding voice queried and the sneakers disappeared. The next moment a shaggy head and two wide eyes rose into view.
“What did you think you were doing,” Dean demanded, his fear for what might have happened making his voice go shrill with barely contained panic. “Dad’s going to kick our asses!”
“But Dean-!” Sammy started to protest. All of eight years old and holding Dean’s sawn-off that had been knocked out of his hands. And oh geez, now Dean was getting treated to a lip-tremble of epic proportions.
“You were supposed to stay in the damn car,” Dean snapped, getting carefully to his feet. The pain was incredible but he knew his dad had busted his ribs loads of times and had never been a baby about it. Dean bit down on his lip until he could stand upright without feeling like he was going to keel over.
“Don’t swear,” Sammy said automatically.
“C’mon. Let’s get you back to the car before Dad sees you,” Dean urged, stepping carefully over the fallen log and herding Sammy along.
“Did I miss?” Sammy asked. “I thought he was gonna eat you.”
Dean looked back towards the clearing and the very dead and now very human-looking werewolf lying sprawled at the base of a tree. Wide, sightless eyes stared up into the sky. Sammy was mercifully spared the view because of his shorter stature and the obscuring tall grass.
“Yeah,” Dean said. “But lucky for me you scared it off.”
--
Many Hands Make Quick Work
(SGA)John/Rodney's first time making cupcakes...and kissing...
For
barely_bean 396 words.
--
“This is so stupid.”
John looks at the row of brightly coloured cupcakes and then back at Rodney and rolls his eyes. “You could have decided that before we made a hundred and fifty of ‘em,” he points out, wiping his icing bag off with a thumb and popping it into his mouth. John’s pretty sure he now has more icing in his belly that has been used on the cupcakes in their entirety and he’s starting to get the unpleasant sensation that he’s just tipped over that mythical line between being pleasantly sugar intoxicated and just plain sick. “It was your idea.”
“It was brilliant when it was an idea,” Rodney sniffs. “Now in practice…” he flails a hand for a moment. “Not so much.”
“We promised Teyla we’d actually make something for the festival,” John points out. His stomach burbles piteously and he grimaces. “A large bowl of potato salad wasn’t going to cut it.”
“The kids are going to be all over us, and they won’t even get it,” Rodney tries, dropping onto one of the steel kitchen stools and his shoulders slump. “They’re just going to stuff their little faces, slip into sugar-induced comas and not get it.”
“What’s to get?” John asks. He kind of shuffles away a little when Rodney spins on his stool, glaring at him.
“It’s PI!” Rodney exclaims, hands going up in the air. “To two hundred places… or will be when we get the last fifty done.”
John looks back at the rows of cupcakes, scrubs a hand over his head and then looks back at Rodney. “Oh, huh,” he snorts.
“You didn’t know?” Rodney demands. “What did you think we were icing numbers on them for in a very specific order?”
“I just thought you were being… odd,” John ventures and ducks the wooden spoon hurled at his head with a “Hey!” of protest.
“Why do I bother putting up with you?” Rodney huffs, getting up and making for the table. John snags his belt-loop on his was past and reels him in. He plants a kiss on Rodney, quick and moist and half-open mouthed and then releases him. Rodney kind of stumbles away and both hands come up and flail around a little more.
“Oh, huh,” he says and then dives for John, who is just about to devour a ‘4’ and ruin everything.
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Happy New Year, darling!