FicBits

“Slightly further back,” Eames calls, camera poised. “No, a bit more.”

"They're insufferable," Sam gripes. "Did they tell you about their 'bond' yet?" he makes it sound smarmy. Mom turns, drying off her hands, eyebrows raised. "There's a 'bond'? Is this a species thing?" "Holy shit, you're right - I can't believe this conversation is happening," Dean blinks. "Well, now I really need to know what kind of protection is involved," she nods. Sam covers his ears, blows out a breath, and then picks up, all at once, taking his oatmeal to another room.

He knows that the rule is you can't tell somebody you love them and then run off and sacrifice yourself to stop the apocalypse. That would have been a piercing cruelty to the both of them. But it's the damnedest thing: Neither of them seem to end up dying.

"I want more," finally fumbles out of Dean's mouth and he doesn't know why. It's not at all what he was prepared to say. He's not a writer, he can't edit what he told Cas out of the universe. He's said it twice, now: that Cas is a brother to him. He's said it twice in the wrong fucking spirit. And reapplying those words every time he feels like this, isn't going to change the fact that he didn't mean what he's said in the first place. "You deserve more," Cas says, still looking at the table, fingers trailing through the condensation, now. Pulling it out in lines, in the pattern of a sun. "From you," Dean clarifies. "I don't know how to say this and I don't want to be saying it. It makes me sound like a fucking flake and a liar and I know I'm not good at this. So I don't need you to be understanding when-" "Tough. I do understand," Cas moves to stand up from the table. Comes to his side. "Come on. Get up. You need sleep."

Kevin leaned his forehead against the windowpane. “I hate you,” he whispered to the ruthlessly hopeful sunshine. “I hate you so much.”

Unfortunately, Earth-4 wasn’t the pick-me-up that Cisco had been hoping for. After a day of extensive investigation, they’d figured out why they couldn’t find any trace of themselves on this Earth: they’d been long dead in this world. Whatever the history of this planet was, it was technologically about four centuries behind their Earth and apparently written records weren’t ‘a thing,’ as the townspeople had so politely informed them.

"You want us to leave?” Eliot asks, swallowing. Hardison closed with some kind of waltz that sounded familiar, like maybe he’s heard it before and has good memories of it. Hardison looks between them. Parker is still sitting on his counter, eating crackers, and Eliot’s on his couch, between them and the door because that’s where he belongs. He’s going to try to be prepared even when the attacks come from inside the team now. Nate’s betrayal didn’t cost the team as much as Sophie’s, but it cost Hardison a lot, and it cost them all some trust. It’s Hardison’s choice whether he trusts them all less, or just Nate. “Stick around,” says Hardison, because he’s the best of all of them, and he’ll trust them even when Nate should have made him wary.

"You are enjoying this far too much," says Scott. "Well, yes. What merits a more joyous occasion than a wedding?" Something happening over Scott's shoulder seems to catch his attention. "You may have to excuse me; I think the strippers have arrived. Wade booked most of them – I understand one of them is supposed to be a zombie, and this may be my last chance to double-check precisely what that's going to entail."

"I'm guessing he did most of the planning?" "He got quite invested in it once I'd sold him on the idea," Cable agrees, still gazing indulgently after what is soon to be Scott's son-in-law. "Perhaps I wouldn't have opted for some of the more... eccentric details myself, but it makes him happy." "Happy," echoes Scott. "Is there a, uh, a reason there's a blast shield protecting the east end of the pavilion?" Cable shrugs. "Wade was absolutely set on releasing a platoon of deathbots for us and our guests to subdue in place of the bridal waltz. I told him I didn't see why not, provided we gave our few civilian invites somewhere to take cover during the melee. He's graffitied the words 'make-out spot' on the far side of the barrier and provided some tables for people to hide under – it's really quite cosy."

Now Nate's smirking, which is a odd because Wade doesn't know whether he likes that expression or whether he wants to punch it in the mouth, but the important thing is that Wade's personal space isn't so personal anymore. "Well, if you put it that way..." says Nate, and Wade decides that compromise is the key, and the proper way to deal with that smirk is to kiss the hell out of it.

"Sooooo we know each other pretty well?" Nate looks down. He's looking at Wade's hand, which just so happens to have shifted itself onto Nate's thigh. Where it's moving around in what might be construed as a grope-y sort of way. What? He thinks he can feel some more metal down there and he's curious, okay? 'Plausible deniability' are some other words Wade knows. Nate doesn't actually seem to mind having it there. When he looks up he's got this twinkle in his eye that Wade likes a whole lot. "You could say that," he replies, but this time in a very different voice and now he is talking to Wade, and that thing tilting Wade's chin up is totally Nate's hand, yesyesYES! He'd say that out loud, but Nate is kissing him, and he shuts up then because this is way more important than talking.

An otherwise relaxing morning is marginally dampened by the niggling feeling that something isn't quite right. He can't put his finger on it at first, but after a couple of hours it starts to dawn on him that maybe – maybe – there's something not quite normal about waking up in a small, cold room made entirely out of concrete except for a big metal door that's been locked from the outside. He doesn't want to jump to conclusions. After all, he's pretty sure he doesn't have anywhere else to be. That he can remember. He can't remember much of anything at the moment, but maybe that's normal too?

"Do not say thankyou. Do not say you're proud of me. Do notsay goodbye." Cable didn't. Thirty seconds of uncharacteristic – though not unaccountable – silence later, Deadpool said, "Nate, if that was Askani Full-Contact Sign-Language for 'kthxbye'..." "It wasn't."

“Wade?” Cable tried, two sets of dizzyingly contradictory memories warring in his head. “What was I...” Deadpool patted him reassuringly – on the arse, as it happened, but it was still generally reassuring. “It's cool, I mostly forgive you. Not many of us can fight editorial mandate – even I had to recruit fanfic writers off an anonymeme to get this far."

Cable hadn't gotten to the end of that thought before there was an ear-splitting noise, like a projectile punching through thick glass, and something that came out of nowhere hit him and bowled him over. His first thought was that a new wave of Brood must have breached the ship's hull right on top of him, but the thing that had hit him – that was now keeping him from getting up by sitting on him – had distinctly humanly fleshy legs, a red and black costume, and – this part took even longer to make sense of – was waving a comic book in his face.

"It's not a bad idea," Nate says, just as Wade's stumbled into a happy memory of breaking into an IKEA over in Melbourne, once, just to steal a fuck ton of meatballs. "Meatballs?" "What?" Nate blinks. "I meant the logo." "Oh." Wade perks up. "I have so many ideas." "I know that you do," Nate says dryly, "And I'm going to veto the one about the chimichangas." "Spoilsport. That would be a good name for a jaeger with you as a co-pilot, by the way. 'Spoilsport Maximum'." "And 'Deadpool' is a better name?" "What's wrong with Deadpool?" Wade scowls. "It's a good name. It has the word 'dead', which is how I like my kaijus, and 'pool', which is where we normally fight the bastards." "'Sea' would be more accurate." "Except 'Dead Sea' is kinda a place, and 'pool' is more fun. More exciting. More us." "Right," Nate drawls - the poor bastard's probably never seen a pool in his life, Wade realizes. The future totally sucks.

"Look," Wade growls, narrowing his eyes, "Mystique Cerebro was pretty damaged even at the start. No blade, only one projectile weapon, and it was a goddamned particle cannon. We did fine out there. As well as we could."