Various - tv_100 responses

[iluvroadrunner6]

So tv_100 is doing a two-week free-for-all for prompts. I'm trying to get back into the swing of writing again, so I've decided to challenge myself into doing one drabble for a different prompt every day, and seeing if I can make it the whole two weeks. This is going to be my -- tracking post of sorts. Since the max I can write for that is three hundred words, I'm going to post all the prompts in the comments of this post, as oppose to individual posts, or one giant post at the end, that way I can get feedback as I go, as oppose to all at the end.

I will be posting each drabble to tv_100 individually, but for here, I'm keeping everything together. So! If you'd like, track the post and comment as you see fit. I look forward to reading the feedback.

Comments

A World in Technicolor (Fringe, Walter Bishop, #8 - the five senses)

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Human senses are connected to the human mind. It was how they worked—synapses in the brain fired and you were told whether you were feeling pain or pleasure looking at red or blue, hearing a whisper or a scream, tasting something sweet or salty, or smelling something foul or fair. Everything is connected to the brain, and therefore everything was controlled by the brain: for better, for worse, till death do you part.

However, when the human mind goes, the senses go along with them. Your mind effects your perceptions, and with Walter Bishop, that was no exception. Before he went away, he saw the world with logical order—a bit eccentric at times, but no more vivid or intense than anyone else. When he worked, he wasn’t seeing something differently from everyone else, he was just working—outside the box, as anyone with logic could be prone to bending the rules every once in a while.

St. Claire’s changed all that. As his mind went, his senses went with it, turning the world that had once been full of color and life into a swirling mess of drab grays and echoing sounds. There was no life in St. Claire’s, no happiness. Walter was left to find his own color, and as the years passed and less and less color was there to be found, the more he lost himself and his logic. He had nothing to see with his senses, so why bother. It was that moment that the old Walter Bishop died, lost to the psychiatric profession forever.

And then he left, and the world was swimming in vivid color again. It was overwhelming and wonderful all at once, but Walter couldn’t have been happier. The world was singing again. And that was what mattered.

Manhattan to Hoboken (CSI:NY, Flack/Angell, #91 - clandestine)

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“You know, I don’t see why we have to come all the way out here,” Flack sighed slightly, leaning back in his chair as he looked over at the woman he was with. “I mean—Hoboken?”

“It’s far enough away that it would be highly, highly unlikely to run into anyone we know out here,” Angell replied, leaning forward on the table slightly and resting her chin in her hand. “I just don’t want to get caught, Don.”

“I know, I know,” he sighed. “But—Hoboken? The city is big enough that we could get lost somewhere without someone finding us.”

“Odds are slimmer here. And I happen to love this place. It makes a great Involtini di Pollo al Prosciutto.” Flack was momentarily distracted by the way the Italian was rolling off her lips, and then shook himself out of it, trying to ignore the smirk on her face.

“Alright, alright,” Flack sighed slightly, before looking down at the menu again. “This better be as good as you say.”

“It will be,” she nodded, before reaching across the table and playing with the fingers on his hand. “Besides—what fun is having a clandestine secret love affair if we don’t get to run away every once in a while?”

Flack looked up at her with a smirk, and was about to say something, right before a loud but familiar voice echoed across the restaurant.

“Flack? Angell? What the hell are you doin’ here?” They both turned to see the grinning face of Danny Messer, and simultaneously both groaned, before Flack gave his girlfriend a look.

“You were saying about not running into anyone we knew?”

Uh-Oh (Supernatural/Leverage, Dean/Parker, #28 - never)

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“Uh-oh.”

Parker stared, wide-eyed, at the man in front of her, and stayed frozen on her perch on the desk. Dean seemed equally stunned.

“Parker?”

“Uh-oh? Whadaya mean ‘uh-oh’?”

Eliot’s voice in her ear snapped her out of it if a bit, but not enough. A tall, yeti-ish man appeared in the space over Dean’s shoulder, and Parker suddenly realized she was very, very stuck.

“Parker? You need me in there?”

“What? No. There’s just someone here.”

“Who, a guard?”

“No, it’s just my—” Appropriate descriptive word for Dean being… “—Dean.”

“You’re who?”

“Eliot, I’m gonna call you back.”

“What the—” Parker was fairly certain that there was curses following her pulling out her earpieces. Instead, her head was tracking the guard and she was pulling Dean and Yeti Man into the nearest large closet.

“Dean, what’s—”

“Just go with it, Sammy.”

“What are you doing here?” Parker stared at him for a moment, before lowering her voice to even more of a whisper. “Does this place have one of your—things?”

Dean smirked and she wanted to smack him for it. “That’s the working theory. What’s there worth stealing out of here anyway?”

Another long pause. “It’s complicated. But I’m a good thief now.”

“Is there such a thing?”

“Robin Hood?”

“Oh, right. Look, if we’re gonna get out of here—”

“We work together. Shouldn’t be a problem for me. Problem for you?”

“Not at all.”

“Great.” Yeti Man looked at them like they were insane, and Parker just smirked, before starting to reposition her ear piece. “Eliot? We’re back on schedule.”

“Parker, I swear to God—” And then there was the cursing. Parker just tuned him out, especially when Dean’s voice was close in her ear again.

“Miss me?”

She grinned. “Never.”

Stronger Together (Supernatural, Castiel, #24 - boundaries)

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He wasn’t bound by this world, and he never would be.

That was the problem with angels—they were eternal. Their boundaries weren’t those of human kind—they weren’t subject to the ebb and flow of time, or bound by the limits of a human life. He had seen civilizations come and go, kings rise and fall, men break and bleed, all for some kind of ideal—some sort of abstract human ideology that seems to be worth the risk of life. It all seemed so trivial when you’re looking down from above, and yet in the end, it changes nothing. History only repeats itself and starts the cycle all over again.

All those people, so unaware of what was going on above them, around them. So unaware of how two men, two humans like themselves could so easily change the course of human interaction. Castiel was sure that it was even more poetic that the two men were brothers, more than anything else. They were the Alpha and the Omega. The beginning and the end. In fact, the angel wasn’t even convinced that it could have been anyone else but the Winchesters. It was written in their fate, more than anything else. And it wasn’t because they were weak enough to be manipulated, or easy enough to turn. It was because together, and only together, would they be able to stop this great thing from happening. They had always been stronger together than apart.

He just hoped that they managed to see that.

Letting Go (CSI:NY, Lindsay Monroe, #20 - rain)

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The rain poured over her, and for a moment, it almost felt like home. It didn’t smell the same, not really, because back home there was fresh air and open spaces. Here the rain tended to pick up car exhaust and just the general urban smell of the city. Smells aside, though, the feel of the falling water against her skin cooled her and calmed her in a way that nothing else really could. It gave her time to think, and right now, thinking was what she really needed to do.

Things with Danny—they weren’t working. She could see it, and apparently so could he. She knew he was going through something rough and needed his space, but even with that space—he wasn’t confiding in her. He wasn’t even acknowledging her. Someone had to step away, and if she wasn’t the one to do it, then she was only going to make things worse for herself. She needed to make the mood, for better or worse. She and Danny both were always one to want things that they couldn’t have, but the difference between them is that sometimes, she knew when it was right to walk away.

But as she felt her phone start to buzz in her pocket, she wondered if she would really have the strength to.

Constant (Supernatural, the Winchesters, #6 - family)

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Family is constant.

Those boys were all he had, his alpha and omega. He knew that he could be an obsessed bastard, but he’d be damned if someone tried to tell him that he didn’t love his boys. They were all he had left, and if he didn’t do his best to protect him, then he wasn’t worth the breaths it took for him to make it through his day.

That’s why he’s down in the basement, giving everything he could for the son who had done everything he asked. He hadn’t been much of a father, that he knew. But Dean deserved whatever it was he could give, and this? This John could do.

***

Family is constant.

There’s only one thought in his mind at the time. Have to save Sammy. That’s all that matters, and he’ll do whatever it takes, because Dean wasn’t meant to go through this world alone. Dean wasn’t meant to do this all on his own.

He gets one year for what he knows is a sorry excuse for a soul, but that doesn’t bother him. It’s worth Sam’s life. It’s always worth Sam’s life.

***

Family is constant.

Sam is the Last Winchester Standing, and he was hating that title. It wasn’t supposed to be him. If Dean hadn’t been so stupid and had just moved on with his life as oppose to bringing him back, they wouldn’t be in this mess. Dean was always the better of them, the one who just did what he could to make Sam happy and Sam wanted so desperately to hate him for it, but he couldn’t. Instead it was Sam who was falling apart, doing what he could to try and get his brother back.

And hating himself more every time they told him no.

Wasted Knowledge (CSI:NY, Sheldon Hawkes, #86 - anatomy)

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There were days when he missed it.

The ME’s office is where things are simple and concrete. They don’t change and flux the way they do on a crime scene, and everything is as it should be. It’s quiet. Comfortable. Predictable. There’s just the body, the evidence, and the cause of death. That’s all that’s needed of him, which is fortunate, because that’s all he can provide. It’s easy, so easy in fact, that it’s boring—and that was where the real problem was.

He was bored, and in the field he never had that problem. He got to interact with people, treat the victims as more than just bodies on a slab. He got to help them, more than he ever could in the ME’s office. He could speak for the victim. His knowledge of the human anatomy may be going to waste but if the other aspects of his knowledge were allowed to stretch their legs every once in a while—that certainly wasn’t a bad thing.