[identity profile] havenward.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] comment_fic
Happy Friday everyone! I hope the week has treated you well, and the weekend is almost here. Which makes the Free For All perfect right? As usual, all fandoms, pairings, and prompts are welcome today.


Just remember to follow our normal rules:

No more than 5 prompts in a row, 3 prompts per fandom. If someone answers your prompt, you can prompt again.

No spoilers in your prompts for at least 1 week following the original air/publication date. If your response includes spoilers, warn in bold and leave at least 3 spaces.

Please remember to format your prompts correctly. For example:
Invisibles, King Mob, releasing the sigil (well, it could be as dirty as you think)

Dresden Files/Supernatural, Harry/Dean/Sam, the vessel for who??



Nothing striking your interest today? Slide on over to our lonely prompts and see if something there can strike your interest!

Happy writing. :D
From: [identity profile] zortified.livejournal.com
"I called."

Steve looks up as he walks in, able to keep himself from reacting badly by just seconds. There shouldn't be anyone here, not when he's been away on a job -- but he recognises the voice a split second before his hand twitches towards the gun still tucked into its hidden holster.

"Chris." He sighes, gives himself a mental shake - tryiing to switch gears without the usual luxury of a day or five or downtime.

Chris walks towards him, visibly angry and Steve can't remember if he's missed something this time, or if Chris is just being pissy because Steve didn't return his calls or whatever.

Sometimes he's able to keep track of this stuff -- his second life back home, fielding phone calls or texts and letting everyone think he's fine, just a little busy, and of course he isn't halfway around the world from his home in LA.

Cell phones are the best thing ever, in that regard. Shows an LA area code no matter where he's calling from.

But this job was a clusterfuck from day one, and now Chris is standing in his living room, arms folded, every inch of him screaming rage. And something else. And Steve honestly has no idea what he's missed to make Chris come over and wait for him.

All Steve wants to do is take a shower, wash the last of the grime of the dust and sand from his body, and let himself forget about the dead man he's had to leave behind. Tomorrow he would have called Chris and the guys, invited them over and had beer and some music and a whole lot of forgetting.

But it seems the clusterfuck isn't quite done with him, yet.

"I'm sorry," he manages, but the look on Chris' face means it isn't enough by a long shot.

He wants to say it -- say that he's tired and sore and he hasn't had to resort to killing someone in years, and he hates it and he wishes he could take it all back -- he's cried in the shower before, and would love to do so again, but instead he has to muster a calm, collected expression for Chris and wait for him to go away.

He hates needing Chris to go away, especially when all he really wants is for his best friend to stay.

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