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Fic: Each Coming Night (Dean/Layla)

Thu, 08 May 2008 03:36:42 GMT

Title: Each Coming Night
Rating: PG-13
Summary: He feels no different than he had before he came here. He has no peace, and he won’t be moving on from this, from her, any time soon.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. A girl can dream, but, alas, that's all it is.
Author's Note: Used for philosophy_20, prompt #2: loss.

Will you say to me when I’m gone,
"Your face has faded, but lingers on
because light strikes a deal with each coming night."
Each Coming Night – Iron & Wine

He’s still not sure he wants to be here. That is what he repeats to himself as he stares out the driver’s side window. His seatbelt isn’t even unbuckled and they’ve been here for about ten minutes now. Sam has been sitting next to him quietly, but Dean feels the weight of his unasked questions pressing against the back of his head.

With a deep breath, he removes his seatbelt and reaches for the door handle.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Sam asks. Dean shuts the door behind him.

It’s harder than he thought it would be, putting one foot in front of the other. He goes slowly, telling himself he just doesn’t want to trip over something in the night. He doesn’t know why he feels the need to lie to himself, or why he thinks that will somehow make him feel better. Nothing much is going to make him feel better today.

It was an accident that has brought him here, traveling across a state line and eating up an entire day. It had all happened by chance, and now, here he is, weaving through gravestones, until he finally comes to rest in front of the one he’s been looking for.

Sam found her obituary on his computer. He turned nearly white as he stared at the screen, freaked Dean out good and well before he turned around the laptop to face him, and Dean’s stomach bottomed out. He couldn’t even bring himself to read it. He slammed the laptop shut as quickly as he could and closed his eyes.

Fuck. It was all he could think, and it’s all that he’s thinking now. Sam didn’t ask where they were going when Dean put his foot to the gas and didn’t talk for miles and miles and hours and hours. He knew Dean well enough to know where he was taking them.

Layla would never, and probably could never, understand the kind of impact she had made on him, how she had made him see the collateral damage that doing the right thing could cause. A good person, a great person, is now dead because of something that he’d had to do. He doesn’t know what to do with that, what to think of that.

He didn’t come here to talk to her gravestone, to ask deep meaningful questions, and to tell a slab of granite how much Layla Rourke had meant to him, what she had helped him see and believe. He didn’t come here to say anything besides the only thing that could be said.

“Goodbye Layla.”

He lays on hand on the gravestone – it's so damn cold – before walking back to the car. He feels no different than he had before he came here. He had no peace, and he wouldn’t be moving on from this, from her, any time soon.

He doesn't want to.

Fic: When You're Not Strong (Sun, Kate)

Mon, 05 May 2008 22:42:59 GMT

Title: When You're Not Strong
Rating: PG
Summary: Sun wishes she were there, with her. She wishes that she could hold Kate in her arms and help her through this. She wishes that she knew what to say to lessen the pain.
Disclaimer: I do not own Lost. At all. I wish but alas...
Author's Note: Used for au100, prompt #21: friends. Spoilers for 'Something Nice Back Home'.

Sun is putting Ji down for her afternoon nap when the shrill sound of a ringing telephone pierces the air. By some miracle, Ji doesn’t wake up. Sun tucks her in as gently, and as quickly as possible, before jogging into the living room.

“Hello?” she greets, in Korean.

“Sun?”

“Kate?”

There’s a sniffle, followed by something that sounds like a caught sob, before Kate says, “I know it’s been a long time, but you said if I ever needed to call and talk…”

“Kate, what is going on?” Sun asks, utterly lost, and more than a little concerned. It must be the middle of the night in Los Angeles, and Kate has called her in tears. Sun fears that something terrible has happened.

Kate doesn’t answer for the longest time, and every minute that passes, the knot of fear in her stomach gets tighter. Is it Aaron, she wonders. Has something gone wrong with him?

“Kate?”

“Jack left,” she finally answers. Sun’s eyes close and she sits down on her couch. Her head falls into her hand and she shakes it back and forth. She can hear the pain in Kate’s voice, and she knows what she must be feeling right now. Her mind goes to Jin, but she forces it back. This isn’t about her. Kate needs her right now.

“What happened?”

“After all this time…I thought he could trust me. I thought…”

“Kate…”

“We were gonna get married,” Kate tells her before breaking down in tears again. Sun wishes she were there, with her. She wishes that she could hold Kate in her arms and help her through this. She wishes that she knew what to say to lessen the pain.

“What can I do Kate?” Sun asks, helplessly.

“I wish you were here,” Kate says.

“So do I,” Sun answers, closing her eyes again. Kate is in such pain, and her heart aches for her.

“I already put Aaron back to bed, and I…I don’t know what to do.” Sun knows that feeling. She has often paced the living room, struck by the memory of Jin, found her feet moving but going nowhere. At times, she feels like crawling out of her skin. Kate’s wounds are fresh, and Sun remembers all too well when hers were too.

“Don’t hang up the phone,” Sun tells her. “I will stay with you all night. Even if you don’t have anything more to say, I will be here.”

Kate breaks into sobs again and Sun lays down on her couch. Her eyes close and her heart breaks a bit more with every second that she listens to Kate cry. She has every intention of being true to her word. Kate is her best friend, and though an ocean seperates them now, she will be with her through the night.

Fic: Sorrow Drips Into Your Heart Through a Pinhole (Juliet, Jack/Juliet, Jack/Kate)

Sun, 04 May 2008 01:54:52 GMT

Title: Sorrow Drips Into Your Heart Through a Pinhole
Rating: PG
Summary: There are times when her thoughts can no longer be contained, times that truths she has kept to herself work their way up to the surface and she is left with no choice but to let them out.
Disclaimer: I do not own Lost. At all. I wish but alas...
Author's Note: Used for un_love_you, prompt #19: This isn't about you at all. Vague spoilers for ‘Something Nice Back Home’.

Juliet doesn’t confess that Jack kissed her for Kate. She doesn’t tell her her suspicions about Jack’s motives for Kate either. She doesn’t do either because she knows that Jack is awake and that he is listening to them. It isn’t about either of them. It’s about her.

She needs to hear herself say these things, outloud. She lives very much in her own head, and while that works to her advantage at times, there are other times that it does her no good at all. There are times when her thoughts can no longer be contained, times that truths she has kept to herself work their way up to the surface and she is left with no choice but to let them out.

On some level, she has always known that Jack loves Kate. On some level, she has always known that a day like this would come. What she says to Kate, and, in a way, to Jack, is an admission of that fact. But it is not for them. It is for her.

Because she knows herself. She knows that if she says these things, she will be stepping outside of her mind, and bringing the truth out with her. And then she will have to face it. And then she will move on.

Drabble: Moments (Buffy/Angel)

Thu, 01 May 2008 05:52:02 GMT

Title: Moments
Rating: PG
Summary: There are moments, small moments really, where she stops. No matter what she is doing, where she was going a moment earlier, she stops, and she misses him.
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayre. I don’t even look like Joss Whedon.
Author's Note: Set sometime in the summer between Season Three and Season Four.

There are moments, small moments really, where she stops. No matter what she is doing, where she was going a moment earlier, she stops, and she misses him. There are also bigger moments, when her bed is lonely and cold at night, or when something important happens, and her first instinct is to tell him about it, before she remembers that he’s gone.

But mostly, it’s the little ones, the sudden pang in her heart, like a cut that doesn’t hurt until you look at it.

She allows herself that one moment to miss him, to mourn for what they had. But after that moment, she keeps moving on. Because she has to. Because it’s the only thing that she can do.

Fic: I Don't Miss You At All (Kate/Sawyer)

Sat, 26 Apr 2008 23:14:49 GMT

Title: I Don't Miss You At All
Rating: PG
Summary: Truth is, Sawyer always expected her to leave. She always leaves.
Disclaimer: I do not own Lost. At all. I wish but alas...
Author's Note: Set post 'Eggtown'.

Truth is, Sawyer always expected her to leave. She always leaves. And he thinks that the shot to the face just may have been worth it for finally getting to say the unspoken ugly truth of who Kate really is that had been on his mind for a very long time.

He expected the eventual disagreement, her anger, even her pause at the door, the look in her eyes all but telling him outright that she expected to be asked to stay – like maybe she would stay if he said he was sorry. Sorry for what? For getting tired of the game? For actually saying something about it? For telling the damn truth.

No. He wasn’t apologizing. He would have thought she knew him better than that. Or maybe she did; maybe she just asked him for something she knew he wouldn’t give so that she had the excuse to walk away.

Either way, it didn’t matter much, because he saw it coming from a mile away. He expected to watch her walk out the door, just as she was doing now, and leave almost as quickly as she had come.

He expected it, sure. But a punch hurts just as much whether you see it coming or not.

Fic: The End (Alex, Ben)

Thu, 24 Apr 2008 03:15:15 GMT

Title: The End
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Alex knows her father. She knows the man that he is and the things that he is capable of. She knows that he’s a liar. A fraud. A murderer.
Disclaimer: I do not own Lost. At all. I wish but alas...
Author's Note: Prety dark. Blatant ignorance of canon. Major spoilers for the end of 'Meet Kevin Johnson'.

Alex knows her father. She knows the man that he is and the things that he is capable of. She knows that he’s a liar. A fraud. A murderer.

A murderer.

She repeats that to herself, until her blood boils, until the memory of the two people to whom she’d meant the world, two people who, when she found them, fell into the missing pieces in her heart, laying face-down and dead on the ground has hollowed her out.

They take her, hoping to use her to get to Ben. She doesn’t struggle, because though they have killed them – Karl and her mother – Ben is their murder as sure as if he had done it in front of her eyes.

If it is Ben that they want, Alex sees no reason not to give him to them.

They see the hollow, fiery anger in her eyes and it convinces them to believe what she tells them, to let her go with her word that they will get what they have come here for. She has no reason no to anymore.

It takes a day for her to make her return to the compound, and Ben comes running to her with open arms. She knows that he will ask questions, that he will try to cover up what he has done with false concern, and even more false love.

She won’t give him that chance. She won’t allow him to look into her eyes and to lie about what he as done to her. He is done taking from her.

“Alex—” is all that she allows him to say before the gunshot splits the air, echoes off of the houses and the trees, and sends the loud drums of footsteps pounding toward doors.

Ben looks up at her once before he slumps to the ground. Her eyes are stone.

She has shot him in the kidney, remembering what John had said in the jungle about the fact that he would be dead if not for the fact that he no longer had one.

She receives shocked stares from the assembled, people who had been manipulated and terrorized by the nearly dead man laying at her feet on the ground. Maybe it is not that they’re shocked by this, but shocked by her.

They shouldn’t be. They have lived with this man’s interference in their lives for something like three months. But he has been in hers for far longer than that, and although she has not hated him for all these years, she supposes his every manipulation has been leading to this moment.

She drops the gun just to the right of his head and he turns his head to the side to look at her. He’ll be dead in a minute, maybe less.

She kneels beside him and, as her last words to him, she says, “That was for my Mother.”

The last thing that Alex Rousseau does for the sake of Benjamin Linus is to let him know that she was never his daughter.

And so, when he dies, he does so alone.

Big Damn Rec-Swapping Post

Wed, 23 Apr 2008 07:10:56 GMT

BIG DAMN
MULTI-FANDOM
REC-SWAPPING POST

The idea behind this series of posts is to talk about and share all the fics we love with one another, even if we’ve already read them, to generate some love and talk about the stories that have made an impact on us as members of fandoms.

I’ve put together a list of my favorites from the fandoms my flist asked for. Some have more than others. That’s not for lack of love, just for the sake of this post not going on for days. ;) You all are certainly not bound by the pairings that I like, because this post is so not about me. Rec anything you love, old or new, whatever you want. Hopefully some people will run across some fics they haven’t read before or rediscover some of their old loves.

So, let’s dive right into it. I’m goin’ first. I have provided links below to fandom-specific posts so you can pick and choose what fandoms you’re interesed in and which ones you want to comment on.

LOST | SUPERNATURAL (+ RPS) |
MISC. (BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER, FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS).

Have fun, guys, and if you want to pimp this out to your friends, that’d be great. The more, the merrier. :D

Big Damn Rec-Swapping Post: Lost

Wed, 23 Apr 2008 07:10:04 GMT

Lost: Gen

Half-Life

cmonkatiekatie

This

Absolved

mysticxf

Lost: Het

A Silent Kind of Faith

lizzyrebel

Lost: Slash

On Being God

uberaeryn

best

Meet You There

gemjam

Lodestar

Starlight, Starbright

zelda_zee

never

melt

More Fandoms:
SUPERNATURAL (+ RPS) |
MISC. (BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER, FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS).

So, there are a few of mine. Let’s hear yours. :)

Big Damn Rec-Swapping Post: Supernatural + RPS

Wed, 23 Apr 2008 07:09:09 GMT

Supernatural: Gen

High-Minded

alethialia

hilarious

Supernatural: Het

Nothing Quite Like the Feel of Something New

thenyxie

happened

you who are free rescue the dead

until twice i have lived forever

lovers alone wear sunlight

oxoniensis

Part One

Part Two

rillaotvalley

after

gorgeous

What Boyfriends Do

lemmealone

really

Supernatural RPF: Gen

Hook, Line, And Sink Her

lissa_bear

really

here

Supernatural RPF: Slash

Trickle Down to Our Goodbyes

gretazreta

Jared

always

The Ultimate Gay Test 2 or the Padalecki Plan of Penetration

felisblanco

not

The Ultimate Gay Test or Whether Or Not To Lick Jensen Ackles

"Dude, Dean was always the better part. He gets the chicks, he gets the funny jokes and he has the Impala."

Jared raises his eyebrows. "And Sam has Dean."

Supernatural RPF: Slash: AU

Snapshots

titheniel

majorly

monster

days

Supernatural RPF: Slash: Crack

Wasted on the Young

causeways

several

Supernatural RPF: Het

Eating Out

cherryscott

awesomely hot

are

More Fandoms:
LOST |
MISC. (BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER, FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS).

So, there are a few of mine. Let’s hear yours. :)

Big Damn Rec-Swapping Post: Misc.

Wed, 23 Apr 2008 07:07:30 GMT

Misc: Buffy the Vampire Slayer

The Light Before We Land

seraphcelene

never

incredibly

Misc: Friday Night Lights

Paper Dolls

saestina

More Fandoms:
LOST | SUPERNATURAL (+ RPS).

So, there are a few of mine. Let’s hear yours. :)

Fic: A Best Friend is a Sister (Sun, Kate)

Sat, 19 Apr 2008 04:56:14 GMT

Title: A Best Friend is a Sister
Rating: PG
Summary: Love has always been what has been lacking from Sun's friendships. The real, genuine, unconditional love of a person who will stand by you no matter what you do, or who you are.
Disclaimer: I do not own Lost. At all. I wish but alas...
Author's Note: For thespiansparkle.

A best friend is a sister, that destiny forgot to give you.
– Anonymous

Sun can’t help but think of home sometimes. She thinks of the life that she had, and the people that were in it. She thinks of what she had then versus what she has now. She misses her bed, her home. She misses running water. She misses the little things that she took for granted when she had them.

But the people…she doesn’t miss them as much. Not her father, with his cold eyes and even colder dimenor. She doesn’t miss her mother, with her constant overbearing nature. She doesn’t miss her friends, who were not her friends. She doesn’t miss the people who weren’t genuine with her, only trying to get close to her father, or around her because of the social status that being her father’s daughter provided.

In her old life, she never knew who to trust, who her real friends were. She could never be sure who was around her for her.

But here, on the island, there is a level playing-field. Here, no one is better, richer, more powerful than anyone. They are all survivors, struggling to get by day by day with their sanity intact. It is easy for her to see, easier than it has been her whole life, who her true friends are.

She thinks, if she has to label it, that Kate is her best friend. She stands by her, and is stood by in return. She thinks she knows Kate the best of anyone, that she has trusted her with more than she has trusted anyone in a very long time. And she knows that there are things that Kate has told her that she has told no one else. She worries for Kate, when she’s away, either by choice, or when she was a captive of the Others. She always welcomes her back, though, with open arms, because that is what friends do.

Yes, Kate is the best friend she has had in years. Because above all else, despite the circumstances, and all of the things that have happened, she has been genuine. She has been caring. She has been like no friend that Sun has ever had, because she is sure that Kate cares for her as she cares for Kate.

Love has always been what has been lacking from Sun's friendships. The real, genuine, unconditional love of a person who will stand by you no matter what you do, or who you are. For the first time in her life, she feels like she has that. And more.

Fic: We Do What We Have to Do (Sun, Kate)

Fri, 18 Apr 2008 03:39:53 GMT

Title: We Do What We Have to Do
Rating: PG
Summary: Sun looks at Ji and sees Jin. And Kate looks at Aaron and sees Claire.
Disclaimer: I do not own Lost. At all. I wish but alas...
Author's Note: Used for au100, prompt #28: children. Spoilers up to 'Ji Yeon'.

Sun watches her daughter nap and can’t help but think, as she always does, how much she looks like her father, when he used to sleep. He was always curled on his side, or around her, drawn into himself, into her, holding onto her in his sleep as if he thought she would run away.

“She’s beautiful,” Kate comments. Sun turns around to find her friend in the doorway, smiling softly. Sun returns it as best she can.

“Thank you,” Sun replies. She crosses her arms over her chest, squeezes her arms, because she suddenly feels very cold. That happens from time to time, mostly when she thinks of Jin. It’s involuntary, of course, and takes a bit of time to fade away. The memory of him, even simple, little things – his smile, his eyes – are enough to send a cold tremor up her spine.

“We had to do what we did,” Kate says, and Sun closes her eyes. She repeats those words to herself, every day, and they sound no more true coming out of Kate’s mouth than they do in her mind. “We didn’t have a choice,” she assures. She’s trying to offer Sun some kind of peace in assurence, but Sun doesn’t need it, want it. You can’t be saved by a lie.

She turns to face Kate and replies, “There is always a choice.” Her voice is even, her eyes hollow. She lives, exists, day to day without the man that she loves. She holds their daughter in her arms, holds a constant reminder of the man she left behind, so far, far away from her.

Jin had said she had to. Kate says the same now. Now, as she holds and loves and raises someone else’s baby as her own, someone who was – is – their friend.

Sun has learned that she and Kate are very much alike. They lie to themselves, and others, to get by. Because lies are easier than the truth. It is easy to think in absolutes, to say that they had to do the things that they did, that it was right to do them.

But Sun looks at Ji and sees Jin. And Kate looks at Aaron and sees Claire.

It makes them doubt. It makes them hurt. It makes them lie. They have to in order to survive, for their children.

Fic: Intermediary (Dean/Layla, Sam)

Thu, 17 Apr 2008 07:53:12 GMT

Title: Intermediary
Rating: PG
Summary: Sam thought, maybe he wasn’t just doing this for Dean, but for Layla too. Dean wanted to see her, but he didn’t think he should, because, for once, he wasn’t the hero. He couldn’t save her, and he thought he’d taken away her one chance at living.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. A girl can dream, but, alas, that's all it is.
Author's Note: Used for philosophy_20, prompt #18: And if the answer is no / can I change your mind?.

Sam told Dean he would only be five minutes behind him. It ended up being more like ten. That was how long it took, waiting with his back against a wall and his eyes scanning a crowd, to catch sight of Layla. She was walking with her mother, and Sam pushed off the wall, walking in their direction.

“Layla!” he called out. They both turned to face him, and he stopped. He’d rather not talk to Layla about this in front of her mother, but if they both came over, well, so be it.

Layla, however, quickly traded words with her mother, who went along without her. Layla approached Sam with her hands in her pockets, smiling politely. “Hi Sam,” she said. Sam nodded.

“Hey Layla,” he replied. “I’m glad I caught you before you left, before we left.”

“Is there something on your mind?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Sam answered. “Yeah, it’s Dean.” Layla seemed to start listening a bit more intently then, and Sam thought, maybe he wasn’t just doing this for Dean, but for Layla too. Dean wanted to see her, but he didn’t think he should, because, for once, he wasn’t the hero. He couldn’t save her, and he thought he’d taken away her one chance at living. He thought he didn’t deserve to see her.

He was wrong. And Sam needed him to see that, needed him to face Layla and see in her eyes what Sam saw now. He thought maybe Layla needed all of that as much as Dean did. She deserved to see him, and it was only Dean’s stubbornness that was keeping them separated.

So Sam did what any good brother would do: he ignored what Dean said and snuck behind his back to do what he was too chicken to do.

“Is something wrong?” Layla asked.

Sam shook his head. “No, it’s not that,” he answered. “He just wants to say goodbye.”

Layla smiled at him then, a small smile, before casting her gaze to the ground. If Sam was a stupider person, he’d think it was because she was blushing. She wasn’t. She knew he was lying – or, really, telling a half truth. Dean would never send Sam to say something like that. Somehow, Layla knew that. Maybe Sam knew she would.

But she said, “Let me talk to my mother. I’ll be right over.”

Sam gave her the room number, nodding as she walked away, jogging just a little bit, in the direction that her mother had taken a few minutes earlier. Dean wouldn’t be mad, Sam knew that. In fact, he had a feeling that, as soon as he saw Layla, he wouldn’t even be thinking about it anymore.

He knew Dean, and he knew this was what he wanted. And after all that had happened, Sam wanted to give him something that he wanted. He wanted to give him Layla. And after all that Layla had been through, he wanted to give her Dean as well.

Fic: We Walk the Miles (Dean/Layla)

Thu, 10 Apr 2008 18:07:33 GMT

Title: We Walk the Miles
Rating: PG
Summary: No one Layla has ever met eats like Dean. Sometimes she has to wonder what he’s more in love with: her, or a short stack with scrambled eggs, sausages, and hash browns.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. A girl can dream, but, alas, that's all it is.
Author's Note: Used for philosophy_20, prompt #20: Reflection.

And so today, my world it smiles,
your hand in mine, we walk the miles,
Thanks to you it will be done,
for you to me are the only one.
Happiness, no more be sad, happiness....I'm glad.
If the sun refused to shine,
I would still be loving you.
When mountains crumble to the sea,
there will still be you and me.
Thank You – Led Zeppelin

No one Layla has ever met eats like Dean. Sometimes she has to wonder what he’s more in love with: her, or a short stack with scrambled eggs, sausages, and hash browns. He certainly looks very much in love, at the moment. It makes her smile, even chuckle slightly, from behind Sam’s computer screen.

“What?” Dean asks, looking to his left, over at her. “I have something on my face?”

She laughs. “Not at the moment. But if you keep eating like that, it’s only a matter of time.”

Dean just rolls his eyes at her. “Sometimes, I swear to God, it’s like having two Sams around,” he comments, and at that, Layla rolls her eyes. Hearing Dean complain about Sam is something that she has learned to tune out. She knows, good and well, that Dean doesn’t know what he would do with himself without Sam around. She doubts he could survive.

“Anything?” Sam asks, returning from the restroom. His question is directed at Layla, who has been looking up local obituaries online. She shakes her head.

“Nothing yet,” she answers. She can’t help but think that’s a good thing.

She thinks that the existence of demons and witches and the all of things in horror movies should have been a complete shock to her. It was an idea that had certainly taken a while to get used to. But, in a way, it made sense. Because, ever since she was a little girl, she’s believed in angels. Demons, she supposed, couldn’t be that far behind. It was a balance.

So finding nothing suspicious, nothing that implies any kind of supernatural death in this town, is a good thing. Boring for Dean, who grew up on the hunt and craves it in a way, feels in his element. But good nonetheless.

“Good,” Sam confirms for her. She smiles.

“You gonna eat that?” Dean asks. Layla turns to find him pointing to her plate, where she has left three strips of bacon and most of her eggs. She’s not feeling very hungry this morning. She pushes her plate toward him, but before he can dive in to finish her breakfast for her, she catches his face in her hand.

“What?” he asks. She tilts his head a bit.

“You have syrup on your face,” she tells him, letting go. He smiles, mischievously, but she notices that a second too late, because, the next thing she knows, he’s kissing her, open and messy. She tastes syrup, toothpaste, and Dean. Sam chuckles from the other side of the table, but out of the corner of her eye she sees him avert his gaze fairly quickly.

“Now so do you,” he answers, almost smugly. He smirks at her, and she thinks, briefly, about wiping it away on the back of her hand. Instead, she decides to have some fun of her own, gathering up all of the syrup on her finger and popping it into her mouth, licking it off.

“Mmm,” she says, gratuitously. She looks over to Dean, who stares at her, wide-eyed. Her eyes sparkly, as if to say, ‘You know you deserved that, right?’ “That was good.”

She picks up the plate she had pushed Deans way and deposits her bacon and eggs on his plate. Then she grabs a fork and impales his short-stack, taking the top two pancakes for herself. She cuts into them while Dean still stares at her.

Maybe she is a little hungry after all. Or, a lot hungry, because the pancakes are gone in a matter of minutes, and Dean is still staring at her, his breakfast seeming to have been forgotten. She smiles at him.

“I have something on my face?” she asks, innocently.

His mouth opens and closes a few times before he finally says, “I think I love you.”

Layla chuckles and so does Sam. ‘I love yous’ between them are rare, especially on Dean’s end. But whenever she does say it, his reply is, more often than not, the same.

She leans forward and kisses him, in much the same way he had kissed her, and says to him, as he says to her, “Back at you.”

Drabble: Rootless Tree (Dean/Layla)

Wed, 09 Apr 2008 05:21:14 GMT

Title: Rootless Tree
Rating: PG
Summary: He looks furious. It’s a mask, Sam knows. He’s hiding what he’s really feeling – self-loathing for what he’s done, guilt, but especially pain.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. A girl can dream, but, alas, that's all it is.
Author's Note: Used for philosophy_20, prompt #03: Ends Justify The Means.

There’s shouting (from him). Crying (from her). Doors slam, an engine starts, and tires squeal. Sam closes his eyes as he lays on the motel bed. Dean yanks the door open. He looks furious.. It’s a mask, Sam knows. He’s hiding what he’s really feeling – self-loathing for what he’s done, guilt, but especially pain. Because she’s gone now. Because he made sure she would be.

“You’re an idiot,” Sam accuses, more than a little angry himself. Because he loves Layla too. Not like Dean does, but he still loves her.

“At least she’ll be safe now,” is all Dean can say.

Fic: Your Heart is an Empty Room (Kate/Sawyer)

Mon, 07 Apr 2008 09:41:45 GMT

Title: Your Heart is an Empty Room
Rating: PG
Summary: He needs her to stay, because, in some stupid way, he knows that if she won’t stay this time, she never will.
Disclaimer: I do not own Lost. At all. I wish but alas...
Author's Note: I go a little AU on the events of 'Eggtown' here.

But you don't know what now to do
Cause the chase is all you know
And she stopped running months ago
And all you see is where else you could be when you're at home
And out on the street are so many possibilities to not be alone
Your Heart is an Empty Room – Death Cab for Cutie

When Sawyer was with Cassidy, dishonesty was the norm. He had himself trained to act and to pretend, ever minute of the day. Because their life had to be perfect, he had to be perfect for the act to pay off in the end.

Pretending was easier; a lot easier than wanting, than trying.

Because, with Kate, he actually tries, continually, day in and day out to be what she wants and what she needs, so that she’ll stay. He needs her to stay, because, in some stupid way, he knows that if she won’t stay this time, she never will.

But then, something strange happens: Kate does stay. Morning after morning, Sawyer wakes up with her next to him, in their bed – and odd concept to digest, to say the least. The first week, every day, he looks to his right, expecting to see empty sheets. But she’s always there, every morning.

For that first week, or two, it makes him smile, it makes him proud, in a way, like he’s doing something right.

And then, every morning that he turns over and finds her there, a small frown comes, unbidden, to his face. It takes him days to figure out why, exactly. And then it comes to him, out of nowhere, when he’s in the middle of reading a book in the living room while Kate does dishes in the kitchen.

He’s bored.

The realization hits him like a blow to the stomach. He sets his book down and looks through the two rooms to Kate, her brown hair pulled in a pony-tail behind her. She’s setting plates onto the rack to dry, and it’s so bland and normal.

This was what he wanted, right? Kate. He wanted her to stick around, and now she has. And now…without the push-pull, without the back-and-forth, without the chase…he feels trapped, and bored, and everything he thought he wanted turns out to be all of the things that make him feel like running for the hills.

At first he tries to ignore it, tells himself that it will pass.

It doesn’t.

And then he finds himself passive-aggressively destroying everything, starting fights over nothing, poking and prodding at all the right soft spots as hard as he possibly can.

He doesn’t want her to go, and yet he can’t stand the idea of her staying and things being like…this.

Almost a month to that day that Kate first stood still, for him, Sawyer wakes up to find her side of the bed empty.

A part of him is disappointed; a bigger part of him knows that it’s better this way.

Fic: Stones Taught Me to Fly (Dean/Layla)

Thu, 03 Apr 2008 04:06:38 GMT

Title: Stones Taught Me to Fly
Rating: PG-13
Summary: They’re apart too often. It hurts more every time he leaves her behind, and every time he’s with her, it gets that much harder to go again.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. A girl can dream, but, alas, that's all it is.
Author's Note: Used for philosophy_20, prompt #10: time.

there’s still a little bit of your face
i haven’t kissed
you step a little closer each day
that I can’t say what’s going on
Cannonball – Damien Rice

“No!” is what he says, adamantly, like it’s settled, like his word is final.

“Yes!” she replies, having none of that.

His back is to her, so that she can’t see his face – annoyance and worry and a thousand other things written all over it. She crosses her arms over her chest, stares a hole in the back of his head. The times when she’s truly annoyed, upset, are few and far between, but this is very obviously one of them.

Sam watches all of this from the edge of one of the motel’s beds. He’s actually kind of fascinated. They keep arguing, volleying back and forth like a tennis match, and they’re surprisingly evenly matched.

Dean is stubborn; it turns out, so is Layla.

Sam honestly doesn’t know who’s going to win in the end.

“Layla, it’s not an option, drop it,” Dean warns. She rolls her eyes. Actually rolls her eyes. Sam thinks maybe he’s a little bit in love with her for that –probably not as much as Dean, but still…he’s impressed.

“You don’t get to make decisions for me, Dean, that’s not how relationships work,” she replies, tightly. Dean really doesn’t like the r-word. It’s what this thing between him and Layla is, he hasn’t bothered to deny that, but the word never fails to ruffle his feathers, set him on edge.

“When it comes to keeping you safe, yeah, I do,” Dean replies, taking two steps forward, before even thinking that maybe crowding her is not the best idea. But Layla doesn’t back away; she holds her ground and stares him straight in the eye.

Damn. Now Sam’s not just impressed, he’s proud.

“No,” she replies, simply, directly. “You don’t.”

It’s a stalemate then. Neither of them are giving ground, or backing off. They’re just standing there, staring at each other, waiting to see who’ll blink first. Sam’s on the edge of his seat.

“Sam?” Dean says. Sam knew he would break first, look away. His eyes plead with Sam to agree with him.

“Leave me out of this,” he replies. Dean grinds his jaw, and in the interest of keeping the peace, he turns to Layla and says, “Both of you.” He sure as hell isn’t taking anyone’s side; no good will come of that. And as much as he wants to see who’s going to retreat first, he thinks it’ll be much easier (and quicker) for the both of them if he excuses himself for a cup of coffee.

Which he does. Dean looks at him like he’s a deserter, and Layla continues to stare tersely at Dean as he stares tersely at Sam as he leaves.

“I can’t believe you’re being this way,” Layla sighs, and shakes her head. She takes a few steps away, turns her back, and sighs again. Dean turns back to her, affronted.

“I’m trying to keep you safe!” he argues, loudly, coming around to the same point time and time again, because, damn it, it’s the point. Mom died. Dad died. Sam died. It’s not going to happen to Layla while he’s around, no chance in hell.

“We’re dying, Dean!” she wheels on him, angrily, as angry as he’s ever seen her. His mouth snaps shut, and his thoughts are blown away by the force of her voice, and her words. They stop him cold; the truth has a way of doing that.

She does her best to hold his gaze, as she had before, but it seems, once she’s heard herself say the words, she looses the momentum. Her eyes dart here and there and everywhere before they land back on him. “I’m still sick. You’re going to die, you get closer to it every day, and I sit at home, and wait for you to call, or show up, or anything, because half the time, I don’t even know if you’re still alive! I am so tired of sitting and waiting.” Her voice breaks four or five times and he tries to step closer to her, but she holds her hand up, makes him stay where he is.

It takes a long time for her to speak again, but when she does, she says, “All those months ago, you said you want to be with me. So, Dean, be with me. And let me be with you.”

Her voice is soft, but so, so strong. She steels her gaze against his, makes it so he pretty much has to look away.

“I could get you hurt.” His arguments are getting weaker.

She doesn’t blink. “I’m hurt now,” she answers.

Then, he does look away, because he just can’t hold her gaze anymore. The truth is, he’d like nothing more than to kick Sam into the back seat, let Layla ride shotgun with them until the end. But their job is dangerous, too dangerous for that. And he can’t justify putting Layla in that position. No matter how much he wants to.

And yet…she’s right. They’re apart too often. It hurts more every time he leaves her behind, and every time he’s with her, it gets that much harder to go again. They’re both dying. He could leave and come back to an empty house and a tombstone. Or he could be far, far away from Layla when his time finally comes, and die with the knowledge that he can’t see her one last time.

Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

“Let me…” he finally says, but he can’t get it all out. He feels like he hasn’t slept in days and he has a pounding headache. His mind won’t stop racing, and he can’t take any more of this. “Let me sleep on it.”

It’s as close to a promise as he can make.

Layla lets out a sigh, then takes a deep breath. She looks down at her hands and nods. “Okay,” she replies. It’s something, but she still sounds a bit defeated, deflated.

Dean goes to her then, and, this time, she doesn’t try to stop him. He pulls her into his arms and rests his chin on top of her head. She wraps her arms around his back and closes her eyes against his chest.

This is what she wants, this, every day, for as long as they have between them. She doesn’t care that it’s dangerous, what Dean and Sam do, and she doesn’t care that it scares her down to her very core. She just wants to be with Dean, not sit alone in her apartment, waiting for the two times a month she gets to see him, touch him, kiss him. It’s not enough; it probably never was.

She closes her eyes tightly, before opening them again, almost with purpose. Her head lifts away from his chest, and her hands wander up the back of his shirt. Dean pulls away and looks down at her, questioningly, as her hands move further up.

“Layla…” he says, and she knows what he’s thinking.

She shakes her head. “You should know me better than that,” she answers.

He swallows, heavily, and nods, “I do,” he replies. “I do.”

“Good,” she tells him, letting her fingernails rake up and down slowly. His breath hitches and he lets out a little hiss. “If this is all I get, in the end…let me have it.”

It’s amazing, he thinks, how little things like that manage to hit him in the gut like a punch when she says them. She says them so softly, almost as if the words are riding out on her breath. But there’s such power, strength behind them, that they hit him hard, in all the right places.

“Yeah,” he answers, his hands resting gently on her shoulders, now. “Yeah,” he agrees again, and his last thought is chased away when she starts kissing him, without giving him any indication that she ever plans to stop. She never does, and dammed if that isn’t another thing that he loves about her.

Shoes, socks, shirts are lost on the way to the bed, but Layla stops, and pulls away. “Wait,” she says, leaving Dean to stare at her, wide eyed, as she heads for the door.

“What are you-”

She pulls the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign off of the handle and puts it on the outside, before closing the door and locking it. “Sam,” she answers, with a shrug. Dean has to chuckle. She walks back over and stands directly in front of him. He smiles down at her, can’t help but.

“We were doing something?” Layla says, after a few moments, lifting her eyebrows at him, clearly implying, ‘What’s going on?’ He just shakes his head and runs his fingers over her forehead.

“In a minute,” he replies, keeps staring, keeps smiling.

She pulls him forward, both hands on the side of his head, and his hands grip her hips. Despite the fact that they are both minus one shirt, mere inches from a bed, in the middle of a tacky, cheap motel room, they stand like that, with each other, for the longest time, lost in each other, both holding on to the other for dear life.

*

“Have I mentioned I hate you,” Sam complains, tiredly, the next morning, coffee cup in hand. He looks tired, is tired, because he got very little sleep last night, thanks to Dean and Layla and all of their make up sex. They didn’t even let him back into the room until one in the morning.

“Only ten times in the last few minutes, but keep saying it, it’s great to hear,” Dean replies, way to chipper for seven am. Sam glowers at him, and tosses his bag in the trunk with a lot more force than necessary.

“Sorry, Sam,” Layla says, and, unlike Dean, she means it, so he offers her a small smile. Her bag (which is a light shade of purple to Dean and Sam’s canvas colored bags) is set gently next to his.

“So, she won, huh?” Sam says to Dean, when they’re out of Layla’s earshot. Dean rolls his eyes.

“Well, technically, I get to have my girl with me 24/7 instead of just my pain in the ass brother, so, I think I win in the long run,” Dean argues. Sam wonders if that makes any sense in his head.

“Whatever makes you feel better,” Sam replies, slapping Dean on the shoulder and walking toward the Impala. Dean is two steps behind him, rooting around in his pockets.

“Where the hell are my keys?” he demands of his pockets, turning them inside out, checking his jeans and still coming up empty. “What the-”

He looks up, and there they are, in between Layla’s fingers as she smiles smugly over the hood of the car, standing by the driver’s side door. Sam laughs out loud, both at the look on Dean’s face, and the courage that Layla seems to display time and time again.

She climbs in the driver’s side door without a word, and Dean’s mouth just hangs wide open. “You’re gonna catch flies, dude,” Sam says, still unable to contain his laughter. They both turn to see Layla searching through Dean’s box of cassette tapes, currently laying in the middle of her lap.

Sam shakes his head, in wonderment and awe. “I love her,” he says. Dean turns and glares at him. Sam chuckles yet again, then yells, “Shotgun!” and runs for the car.

“Hey!” Dean replies, chasing after him, but Sam beats him there, climbing in the front seat and shutting the door before Dean can grab him by his jacket and yank him back out.

“Looks like you get the back seat, honey,” Layla needles, and now she’s laughing softly at him too. He huffs and rolls his eyes, pulling the back door open and sliding inside.

“This is so not how I pictured this going,” he complains. He’s in the back seat of his own damned car, while his little brother rides shotgun next to his girlfriend. Those things should sure as hell be in a different order

Layla turns back to him and reaches out, runs her hands along the side of his face and up into his hair, “Stop complaining,” she tells him. “And just enjoy the ride.”

Dean smiles to himself as the car pulls away from the motel parking lot. As always, it seems Layla is right. From now on, and for however long they have left, he fully intends to just let go, and enjoy the ride.

He just wishes he didn’t have to do it from the back seat.

Fic: We Held Gold Dust in Our Hands (Sun/Jin)

Wed, 02 Apr 2008 04:56:54 GMT

Title: We Held Gold Dust in Our Hands
Rating: PG
Summary: The world slows down and the people around her fade away, turn black and white along with the surroundings, until the only thing in color, in her minds eye, is the two of them.
Disclaimer: I don't own Lost. At all. I wish, but alas...
Author's Note: Written for lostfichallenge, Challenge #69: Beginnings and Endings.

She’s been looking for Jin all night before she finally sees him. She pretends to listen to the things her friends are saying – meaningless, mindless gossip, mostly – but her eyes scan her father’s party every thirty seconds until they find him, serving champagne a few hundred feet away.

The world slows down and the people around her fade away, turn black and white along with the surroundings, until the only thing in color, in her minds eye, is the two of them. Because they’re the only things that matter.

She’s supposed to be making an appearance at this party, for her father’s sake. She doesn’t lie to herself, though. She knows that she came for Jin; and that she’d like nothing more than to leave with him now.

Instead, she lifts the champagne to her lips and tilts her head very subtly in the direction of the gazebo across the way. She glances up and him, and he smiles, wide, eyes having followed hers.

It’s all so new, so perfect. She has actual butterflies in her stomach; that has never happened to her before. That’s how she knows that all of this is the beginning of something amazing. She just knows it.

Fic: Jaded (Juliet, Ben)

Tue, 01 Apr 2008 03:17:17 GMT

Title: Jaded
Rating: PG
Summary: The moment Juliet saw Goodwin’s body, run through by a sharp stick and lying there, alone, in the middle of the jungle, was the moment that the woman she had been before the island died.
Disclaimer: I do not own Lost. At all. I wish but alas...
Author's Note: Used for un_love_you, prompt #10: I'm broken.

The moment Juliet saw Goodwin’s body, run through by a sharp stick and lying there, alone, in the middle of the jungle, was the moment that the woman she had been before the island died. The day Ben stood above her, with claims of ownership is the day she ceased to be that woman, and became someone else.

She has never been the same, since that moment. Goodwin is dead because of her, and she lives with that every day. Just as she lives with the constant threat of Ben’s twisted obsession with her rearing its ugly, dangerous head.

But more than that, she lives with the fact that it is this man who has changed her, twisted her around, and molded her into something else. He has made her hard and jaded and broken her down. He has shown her exactly what he is capable of time and time again: of lying to people and making them believe. Of killing, indiscriminately and without remorse.

Ben lies; as has she.

Ben kills; as has she.

She hates him. Hates him for killing the man she loved. Hates him for loving her. Hates him for imprisoning her. Hates him for breaking her. Hates him for changing her.

She hates him for making her more like him.

Fic: Movie Script Ending (Jack/Kate)

Fri, 28 Mar 2008 22:39:40 GMT

Title: Movie Script Ending
Rating: PG
Summary: It’s clichéd, but he asks her to coffee. Because it sounds like something normal, in his head. Something effortless. Something friends do.
Disclaimer: I do not own Lost. At all. I wish but alas...
Author's Note: Set during 'Eggtown'.

Jack shifts awkwardly on his feet. For some reason, he never thought it would be this way – seeing Kate again. He thought it would be…well, easier. They are different people now, yes, but, for some reason, he had assumed that this thing between them would never change.

It has changed, though. It isn’t better. It isn’t worse. It’s just…different. And Jack doesn’t know quite how to adjust to different. Especially when it comes to Kate – and to him and Kate.

It’s clichéd, but he asks her to coffee. Because it sounds like something normal, in his head. Something effortless. Something friends do. Friends have coffee, catch up, when they’ve been apart. It sounds like as good a step as any back to where they once were.

But Jack sees the answer in Kate’s eyes before it comes out of her mouth. Too much has changed, too much stands in-between were they are now and where they were before, who they were before. Too many things have happened, wedged them apart.

Jack thinks that he maybe always knew that. He thinks, as he walks back to his car, and Kate’s cab drives away in the opposite direction, that he probably new this was how it was going to end up: Kate going one way, him another.

He supposes that’s one of the few things about them that really hasn’t changed.

Fic: Familiarity Breeds Contempt (Sawyer/Cassidy)

Fri, 28 Mar 2008 00:06:30 GMT

Title: Familiarity Breeds Contempt
Rating: PG
Summary: It’s easy to lose yourself in the feeling of being loved by someone.
Disclaimer: I do not own Lost. At all. I wish but alas...
Author's Note: I seem to be giving Sawyer as much presense in my fics as he’s been getting on the show lately. This thing came to me last night, and seems to have rectified that situation good and well. Used for lostsquee, lyric prompt: Don’t ask me what I think of you, I might not give the answers that you want me to. Fleetwood Mac - Oh Well.

It’s easy to lose yourself in the feeling of being loved by someone.

It never was, with any woman before her; but there’s something about her. She’s not gorgeous. She’s not model pretty. But she’s spunky, and she’s smart, and no, you don’t love her, and yes, you’re using her, but she still gets to you.

You’re corrupting her, teaching her how to lie, how to cheat, how to be like you (like him). And a part of you loves that, a part of you takes pride in watching her grow and blossom, and get better and better at it.

The other part of you – the part you’ve spent nearly all your life ignoring – is disgusted: by you, by her, by your whole damned life, by the low you’ve sunk to and the knowledge that you can sink further.

But that same part of you is the part that makes you stay, because you may not love Cassidy, but you respect her, and maybe that’s more important than love. Maybe it means more than love. You stay, longer than you should, because she loves you, and you need that.

The love of a woman you can’t respect means nothing to you; the love of a woman you do respect means more than you care to admit.

And you resent her love as much as you crave it.

Drabble: Shelter from the Storm (Jack/Juliet)

Wed, 26 Mar 2008 22:50:09 GMT

Title: Shelter from the Storm
Rating: PG
Summary: Jack stands before her, offering comfort, refuge. It’s been so long since she’s had either.
Disclaimer: I do not own Lost. At all. I wish but alas...
Author's Note: Used for un_love_you, prompt #27: Author's Choice.

Juliet is tired.

She’s tired of the island, yes. Tired of Ben and his endless, crippling mind games, yes. She’s tired of a life spent in fear, yes. But mostly, she’s just tired.

She has spent so long now – what sometimes feels like a lifetime – standing tall and strong amidst a swirling storm. And now, her legs are getting weak, and her will even weaker.

All that she wants to do is rest – and she knows that she can’t. But Jack stands before her, offering comfort, refuge. It’s been so long since she’s she’s had either. She will not let herself to fall, not even now; instead, she wraps her arms around his neck, allowing him to help her stand.

Fic: I Always Thought That I'd See You Again (Dean/Layla, Dean/Cassie)

Wed, 26 Mar 2008 04:23:35 GMT

Title: I Always Thought That I'd See You Again
Rating: PG
Summary: He doesn’t want to talk about Cassie, but, well, he never wants to talk about things like that. Maybe he was in love with her, and maybe he was twenty three and stupid.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. A girl can dream, but, alas, that's all it is.
Author's Note: Used for philosophy_20, prompt #1: birth. Cassie is all over this, even though she doesn’t make an apperance personally. I don’t have a problem with her character, or her relationship with Dean, but I thought I’d put up a warning here for people that do, just in case.

It all begins with a seemingly innocent question.

“So, have you ever been in love?”

Maybe he should have seen it coming. Maybe he should have known that she would eventually become curious about something like that. Nevertheless, he’s a little blindsided. He doesn’t know what to say, how to answer. He can’t lie, because she’ll know – she’s good at things like that. But he can’t tell the truth, because he doesn’t know what the truth is.

So he says, “I don’t know.”

Which only intrigues her further.

She holds the cup of coffee in-between her hands, contemplatively, as if she’s trying to figure him out rather than question him further. He shift, made a little uncomfortable, and shakes his head, sighing. He really wishes she hadn’t asked him that. Anything else, but not that.

“What was her name?” she asks, simply, innocently.

He stalls with a long drink of coffee. But, eventually, he has to answer her. “Cassie,” he replies. He doesn’t want to talk about Cassie, but, well, he never wants to talk about things like that. Maybe he was in love with her, and maybe he was twenty three and stupid.

Either way, it doesn’t matter. Him and Cassie were long over. He doesn’t want to spend what little time he has with Layla talking about something that’s come and gone.

“What happened?” She asks, sipping her coffee. He looks up at her, a sarcastic reply already waiting on the tip of his tongue. He bites it back. Because Layla’s questions really are as innocent as they seem; because they’re coming from Layla. Layla, who he’s sure just wants to know him better. It’s not her fault he isn’t good with these things.

“It just didn’t…we didn’t work,” he explains, as best the can think to. They’d had a lot of good things together, him and Cassie. He wouldn’t have been with her, or cared so much about her, if there hadn’t been – she wouldn’t have been able to hurt him so badly if there hadn’t been. Had he been in love with her? Maybe. He certainly hadn’t felt anything that strong for anyone before her.

“How so?”

He sighs.

“I’m making you uncomfortable, aren’t I?” Layla asks. He tries to say something, but she’s talking too fast, trying to back-peddle over her questions, bury them as quickly as possible. “I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t be asking you thinks like this; it’s too personal.”

“No, Layla-”

“Really, it’s okay!” she insists. “I understand. I was just curious. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“I told her,” he blurts out, because he wants Layla to stop. And maybe, because he wants her to know. She looks at him, curiously, head tilted slightly to the side. “I told her about me, about our family, about…” He looks around the coffee shop to make sure that no one is paying attention. “…what we do.”

She nods, slowly. “What happened?”

“She didn’t believe me.” Which, okay, when he thinks about it, wasn’t exactly surprising, if he is honest with himself. “Maybe I didn’t expect her to. I think I was just so tired of my whole life being a big secret, I just wanted somebody else to know. I mean, I don’t know if I was in love with her, but when I told her, I thought I was.”

Silence follows for about two whole minutes. He just sips his coffee and watches her watch him. She has that contemplative look back on her face, and he’s once again squirming uncomfortably in his seat. This is definitely one of those times when he wishes that he were as good at reading her as she seems to be at reading him.

“Then, why did you tell me?”

The silence comes crashing back down on them, because he doesn’t know how to answer this question either. He honestly doesn’t know which is more difficult: talking to Layla about Cassie, or talking to Layla about them. But she’s Layla, and, if nothing else, he knows he will always try for her in a way that he never could for any other woman.

“Layla, I drift in and our of your life every couple of months,” he says, just…talking, just saying it, because it’s the only way he knows to get it out. “I didn’t tell you were I was going, when I would be back, what I was doing…and you always opened the door like I’d never been gone and never once asked me about it. I told you because I thought you deserved to know. I told you because I thought you deserved to know me.”

She smiles a smile that he can’t quite intemperate; it’s a smile that he’s not sure he’s ever even seen before. Layla is so damned hard to figure out sometimes.

“Ask me why I believed you,” she replies.

He screws up his face in confusion, but, nevertheless, asks, “Why did you believe me?”

She looks up at him, then, dead in the eye, and smiles. “Because I know you,” she answers.

Their eyes fall away after a while, but, unbeknownst to each other, the smiles remain on their faces. Dean reaches for his coffee, in an attempt to get it to stop. When he looks back up, Layla is waiting there, with soft eyes, and the same warm smile.

“This is something, isn’t it?” she asks.

There’s a long pause on his part, but no matter how much time he lets pass by, he can’t put off the inevitable reply, or the inevitable truth. “Yeah,” he finally says, admits to. “It’s something.”

Fic: I'm Reaching for the Phone (Dean/Layla)

Fri, 21 Mar 2008 04:10:34 GMT

Title: I'm Reaching for the Phone
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Dean stares, wide-eyed, down at the small piece of paper in his hand. What is Sam doing with Layla Rourke’s phone number?
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. A girl can dream, but, alas, that's all it is.
Author's Note: Used for philosophy_20, prompt #11: extrinsic.

Dean finds it by accident: a small rectangle with a ripped edge, stuffed in-between the pages of one of Sam’s books. Like it was quickly placed there and forgotten about. There’s a phone number scribbled on it, and Dean fully intends to just stick it back in the book and forget about it because, hell, Sam’s allowed to get a phone number in a bar every now and then without comment from him.

Except. Before he has a chance to put it back, he catches sight of the name.

Layla Rourke.

Dean stares, wide-eyed, down at the small piece of paper in his hand. What is Sam doing with Layla Rourke’s phone number?

“Hey, what’s up?” Sam asks, frowning at Dean when he exits the bathroom. Dean turns on Sam, paper in hand, and irrationally angry.

“What are you doing with Layla Rourke’s phone number?” he asks, demands. Sam looks at him like he’s gone off his rails. He walks over to Dean and takes the paper from his hands. Which only pisses Dean off more. He looks down at it.

“I forgot I had this,” he replies, thoughtfully. “She gave it to me before we left Nebraska.”

“Why?”

“Dude, what is your problem?”

Dean snatches the paper back from Sam, who continues to stare at him in confusion. “Answer the question, Sam,” he says, tersely.

“Do you really want to know?” Sam asks, clearly more than a little fed up.

“Why the hell do you think I’m asking you?”

Sam sighed and shook his head. “After I told her you wanted to say goodbye, which you did, even though you’d never admit it, I told her you were worried about her. She gave me that and told me to tell you I you could check in from time to time if you wanted. She gave it to me for you, man, and I put it in that book, and forgot about it. There. That’s what I’m doing with Layla Rourke’s phone number.”

Dean eyes him for a few seconds, then looks down at the piece of paper in his hands, the phone number written on it.

“Fine,” he eventually says, folding up the piece of paper and shoving it into his pocket. He could apologize for being an ass, but, well, he won’t. He thinks Sam somehow knows he’s sorry. He always does.

“So,” Sam says, falling back onto the bed. “Are you gonna call her, or what?”

Dean glares at him and says nothing.

*

They’re on the road, again, two days later, and Dean’s cell phone and Layla’s number are burning a hole in his pocket. He still doesn’t know what to do; he knows what he wants to do, but doesn’t know what he should do. Layla’s got enough on her mind, enough problems, enough things to deal with, without him inserting himself back into her life, no matter how short a time.

But, would she have given her number if she didn’t want him using it?

He’s played every possible situation in his mind, over the hours and hours spent staring at the road ahead. Sam’s asleep. Dean wishes he could sleep; he got maybe two hours last night.

He spots a gas station in the distance and decideds enough is enough. He pulls in rather fast, startling Sam awake with an abrupts stop. Sam sits upright quickly, looking around. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Gotta take a leak,” Dean lies. “Fill it up, would you?” He gets out of the car before Sam has a chance to say anything else. He vaguely remembers rounding a gas station very much like this one, calling John, what feels like three lifetimes ago. He repeats the process and leans heavily against the wall.

He pulls the paper out of his pocket and stares at it. Will she even be around anymore to answer? And if she is, what is he going to say to her? Hi, remember me, the guy who stole your chance at living, not once but twice? How’ve you been? He sighs, punching the buttons slowly. He stares at his phone for a long time, before pressing ‘send’. He’s realling doing this.

Shit, he’s really doing this.

Three rings and then, “Hello?” It’s her. He takes a deep breath.

“Hi Layla.”

A pause. “Dean?” she asks. She sounds surprised. Pleasantly surprised. Excited. He can’t help the smile that crosses his face. He closes his eyes and breathes a silent sigh of relief.

“Yeah,” he replies. “It’s me.”

Fic: And I Claw for Solid Ground (Tyra/Landry)

Wed, 19 Mar 2008 06:44:15 GMT

Title: And I Claw for Solid Ground
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Collapsing in tears, Landry catches her. She thinks she let herself fall because she trusted him to do just that.
Disclaimer: I do not own FNL. At all. I wish but alas...
Author's Note: This is my very first Friday Night Lights fic, set during quite possibly my favorite episode, 'Mud Bowl'. So, even though I’m horribly far behind the rest of you, so you probably already know, spoilers for that episode.

Stay strong. Stay hard. Pick up. Move on.

Her papers, books, scatter on the ground. She can’t seem to keep a hold on them for more than a few seconds. Her hands are shaking, but she ignores them, tries to get a grip, to hold on. The rain lashes at her, and soaks through all of her hard work, making it useless. But still she clutches at it, because she needs to clutch at something. She needs to hold on to something.

She barely registers the squealing of tires at all, but the next thing she knows, Landry is standing in front of her, stumbling all over himself trying to apologize for being late. It takes a second of looking at him, of registering his kind apologies and his guilty face, before her tenuous hold over herself crumbles around her feet.

Collapsing in tears, Landry catches her. She thinks she let herself fall because she trusted him to do just that.

“He tried to rape me,” she cries, and suddenly, it’s true. It really happened. She said it. He asks ‘who’ just once, looks around as if he’s lurking in the shadows watching them. She can barely hear the rain over the sound of her own sobs.

There are no more questions after that. He just holds her in his arms, and she clutches at him, holds onto him, tight. He’s steady, solid, and she doesn’t feel like she’s slipping away anymore. She isn’t. Because he’s holding her up, holding her still, waiting for her to let him guide her back to solid ground.

She clings to him, just as tight, holds on with all the remaining strength in her body. Because he is her solid ground, and she needs him now more than she has ever needed anyone before.