Bite Sized Bits of Fic

Supernatural, Dean Winchester forgiving his father.

From:

Lucifer, Lucifer forgiving Maze for betraying him.

From:

Supernatural, Baby forgiving Dean/Sam Winchester for all the damage done to her.

From:

Hawaii Five-0, Steve McGarrett/Danny Williams, Steve hopes Danny can forgive him for not telling him he's been in love with him practically from day one.

From:

"Wait a minute, you're just telling me this now? Why even bother? Do think this would make things better? You should have kept your mouth shut." That's how the argument started, two days ago. Steve thought telling Danny he'd been in love with him from practically day one would have been flattering to him. Boy, was he wrong.

Danny's mouth had formed into a silent O at his admission. Then, his eyes narrowed, his lips curled into a snarl before the words came out. "Do you know how much time we lost not being together?" Steve took a step forward, reaching for Danny. He just backed away, hand thrown up to deflect Steve's touch. Then Steve made the mistake of say, "Well, you didn't say anything, either." He regretted it the moment the words poured out. He actually palmed his face, wondering why he'd been given the gift of speech.

He saw the look of hurt in Danny's eyes. He knew why Danny had kept quiet. It had been for the sake of Grace and the battle he'd been going through with his ex, Rachel. Before he could attempt an apology, Danny was out the door, in his car and pulling out of the driveway. He'd gone after him, tried to stop his leaving. But, a man against a moving vehicle didn't stand a chance. In the end he had to let him go.

Returning to their living room, Steve let his body drop to the couch. How could this be fixed? Could this be fixed? He let an hour go by before trying to reach Danny on his cell. It'd gone straight to voicemail. He hung up, not leaving a message. Two hours later, he tried again. Voicemail. "Danny, come home so we can talk. I'm sorry." With a sigh, he ended the call, tossing the phone down on the couch next to him.

He must have fallen asleep. The sky was black and the street lights were on. The orbs trying to cut through the night. He got up, pushing back the curtain to see if Danny's car was there. His space was still empty. He checked the time on his phone, it was after midnight and there hadn't been any messages from Danny. His heart sunk, even when Danny was mad, he'd never imposed "radio silence" before. He decided to send out a text.

I know you're not in the mood to talk to me. Could you at least text and let me know you're ok? Please. It was the best he could do at the moment. He stared at his phone, willing a response.

I'm alive. Well, at least it was a response. The best he was going to get at the present time. He wasn't going to push it. He carried the phone with him into their bedroom to get settled for the night. He changed into a pair of sweatpants and crawled into bed. It felt strange not having Danny beside him. He tossed and turned most of the night. Even having the TV on wasn't helping to lull him to sleep. Getting up, he changed into a pair of running shorts and a tank, deciding a run would help.

An hour later he returned from his run to find Danny home. He was getting ready to leave, again. He looked at Steve. "I have to pick the kids up for school. I can't get into this with you." Danny turned to leave, stopped and turned back. "At work, I think it's best that I either hang back or ride with Chin."

Steve looked away from him. Not wanting to add any more stress to the situation. "Sure, if that's what you need." With a nod, Danny was out the door, leaving Steve alone in their home. Steve allowed himself to fall back against the wall. The absence of Danny felt like a knife piercing his heart. Pulling himself together, he showered and dressed for work. The uncertainty of the day wearing on him as he drove to work.

From:

He could hear laughter as he pulled the door open to the task force's area. They were joking around with each other. They drew him in to it. Danny was even smiling, for the moment. "Ok, what have we got?" They sobered up, getting back to their jobs. Kongo pulled up the file for everyone to view. "This morning two perps attempted a jewelry heist at Stello's. One dead, a security guard and one of the perps was wounded, bullet to the thigh." Nodding, Steve gave out their assignments, causing a look of confusion when he paired Chin with Danny and Kono with himself. Not questioning, the team went to work. Several hours later, they'd been able to find the second man in question. He'd been hiding in a closet at his mother's. She'd been outside, yelling for them to take away her worthless son.

With their reports wrapped up, they headed home. Steve entered the house to find the rooms empty, except one. The bedroom door was closed, they didn't close it unless the kids were there. He pushed their bedroom door open, finding Danny standing with his back to him. He grabbed Danny, spinning him around to be face to face with him. "Danny, this ends now. You need to listen to me. I was an idiot for what I said. I'm sorry. I intend to make this up to you. Take away the hurt I caused. Please, forgive me. I love you." He felt Danny lean into him, his head resting on his chest.

"I love you. I just had to get over the anger and hurt. And, I do forgive you." Steve lifted Danny's face up to meet his lips. He breathed in his scent, humming in happiness. He trailed kisses down his jawline and neck. He heard the familiar moan he was hoping to get from Danny. His hands were pulling at Danny's shirt, trying to unbutton it. In his haste, he popped the buttons off. Danny grabbed at the material, pulling it off and dropping it on the floor. Steve grabbed the back of his T-shirt and yanked it up and over his head, dropping it with Danny's. They kicked their shoes off. Steve pushed Danny towards their bed, stopping when Danny's legs hit the mattress. Gently, he lowered him down. Looking down at him, half undressed, face flushed with lust, Danny was his. "God I love you." He climbed on the bed, straddling Danny. Hands on either side of Danny's shoulders, he leaned down to nip at has collarbone. "Do I have your forgiveness?" He whispered. Danny had to catch his breath, "Yes, now turn off the light and get back to your apology."

From:

I loved this - and that last line clinches it :)

From:

So happy you liked it. I loved the last line. They needed some happiness.

From:

Ohhhh that was so lovely! Wonderful! Thanks for writing!

From:

Thank you. Really glad you liked it.

From:

Supernatural, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Just when Dean thought that there can never be forgiveness for being in a relationship with his own brother, Chuck proves him otherwise. They ARE soulmates after all.

From:

tigriswolf

Dean's known since he was 18 that he was too obsessed with Sam, too protective, too clingy--that he had to actively remove his gaze from his brother because it was wrong, the way his eyes lingered. He had to keep Sam safe from people like him.

Dean would never have made a move on Sam, but Sam took it out of his hands one cold night when Dad was gone and the heating crapped out.

He felt guilty about how relieved he felt, and then when Sam left for Stanford, along with pride, he felt broken and relieved--because Sam had escaped. Dean would've only broken him, too.

And then, well. Shit happened.

Sam spent months grief-stricken and angry, and Dean pushed him at every chick Sam looked twice at. Dad died (healing Dean) and after that, Sam seemed to feel the need to look after Dean, like he was the older brother or something.

More shit happened. And kept happening.

Again, Dean would've never made the first (second) move, but Sam... when the dust settled after Yellow-Eyes, once they were back in their old room at Bobby's, the room they were too large for now, too grown to share, Sam slammed into the wall and demanded, "What the fuck, Dean."

Chests pressed together, breath mingling, Sam strong and alive--Dean broke. How could he have done anything else?

After, they shared a bed every so often, usually when one of them was hurt after a hunt. Dean still buried himself in women (and a few men), in a frenzy because he had a deadline, now. And Sammy—

Well, Sam became a terrifyingly focused predator, focused on keeping Dean out of Hell. The closer that deadline came, the more desperate they both got, and Dean didn’t regret the deal (couldn’t, not with Sammy breathing) but he was so scared.

Edited Date: 2017-06-16 03:19 pm (UTC)

From:

tigriswolf

When Castiel pulled him out, Sam was wrapped up in a demon, drinking demon blood like a vampire, and everything got so twisted around. They still shared a bed every now and again, but Dean felt Sam growing further and further away.

Shit kept coming, one thing after another, and Dean just didn’t know what to do anymore. How could he keep Sammy safe when Sammy was the problem? When Sammy believed he needed to redeem himself? When Sammy’s soul was left in the Pit (and, fuck, but Dean broke even more, looking at his brother’s face without Sammy looking back), and shit happened and happened and happened.

After Purgatory, after the Mark—Dean would still have never made the first move. But once they were back in the bunker, Death dead and The Darkness free, Sam slammed him into another wall.

“Sammy,” he said, hands grasping Sam’s shoulders. He breathed, empty of the Mark’s hold, and it felt like freedom.

“Dean,” Sam murmured, voice soft and hands loosely pressed against Dean’s chest.

It felt like coming home, and he let go.

But there was always a lurking guilt, that he’d corrupted Sam, and despite everything they’d gone through, everything they’d done, it still felt like it would end.

And then God Himself slapped Dean upside the head, glowered at him (which was awkward, since Chuck was so fucking short), and said, “I literally made the two of you soulmates, you idiot. Stop angsting about how much you love your brother.”

Dean blinked down at him. “For real?”

“Yes, for real!” God shouted. “For fuck’s sake.” He stomped off in Dean’s robe and even though there wasn’t a door, he slammed a door.

After a moment of shocked silence, Dean turned to watch Sam ease himself into the kitchen. “So…” Sam said.

Dean smiled, slow and wide.

From:

*squeeeeee* That was awesome! Loved it. And the image of Chuck slapping Dean upside the head so he finally listens ... precious!!!!!

From:

tigriswolf

I'm glad you like it!

From:

any/any, "You don't need my forgiveness. You need to forgive yourself."

From:

hugglewolf.livejournal.com

It’s a very simple curse. Simple but powerful, effective.

Cas wants to scream as his Grace is repelled once more. He fights, tries to push it back into Dean, but he might as well try to unmake Creation. Unless Dean accepts it, it’s futile. And Dean won’t accept it.

That’s the beauty of the curse. It dredges up all the unatoned for sins of the person it’s acting on. All the things they regret that they’ve never done anything about. And then it smothers the victim with them.

“Dean,” Cas says. “You have to let it go.”

Dean draws in a ragged breath. He’s pale and shaking, the symptoms growing more pronounced with each moment. “Why should I? Why do I get a pass on shit, Cas? I didn’t give you one.”

Cas starts to speak, but Dean presses a finger to his lips. “Uh-uh. Angels shouldn’t lie.”

Cas grabs his hand, presses a gentle kiss to his finger. “I didn’t deserve one, Dean,” he says. “But you forgave me anyway.”

“Made you work for it, though. Treated you so bad, Cas.”

Yes, Cas thinks wretchedly. You did. But I forgive you, for all of it. Because I understand. Because I love you. But Dean knows all of that. Cas has told him a thousand times, whispered it against his skin in the dark, told him with words and with touch.

Until Dean forgives himself, it means nothing and now it might cost him his life.

“I love you, Dean,” he says. “I love you and I’m going to lose you. Sam is going to lose you. Because the only person who can save you from this is you.”

Dean’s lips are turning blue. He shudders, bodily, and Cas can see he’s slipping fast. “You don’t need my forgiveness, Dean. You need to forgive yourself. Please. Dean, please.”

He leans forward, gathers Dean to him, and prays. Not to his Father, who’s watched him suffer and die in plain view, and abandoned them again with little more than a farewell.

No, this time he prays to Dean, and then he tries once more to heal him.

He leans forward, kisses him and whispers against his lips, ‘I love you’.

For a moment, he expects resistance, and Dean to slip his hold. Instead, Dean reaches up and hugs him back.

“I don’t know why,” he says, ‘but ok.’

Cas pays no mind to his tears as he feels his Grace surge into Dean, and feels the curse finally lift.

From:

Fantastic job.

From:

Oh that was absolutely beautiful and heartbreaking. Thank you so much for writing it! Well done!

From:

entireoranges.livejournal.com

Doctor Who, Any Doctor after 8th, Finally forgiving himself for his actions while the War Doctor.

From:

tigriswolf

author's choice, author's choice, i should forgive you - but i can't yet

From:

Supernatural, Dean Winchester

Dean was alone for the time being. Sam had driven into town to grab more supplies. While he loved his brother, he needed some time to himself. With Sam there, the cabin felt like it was closing in on him and he was happy for the solitude. He'd been having the strangest dreams lately. They either were about or involved their father, John Winchester. He couldn't figure out why, at first. Then, last night's dream had been the one to finally clear things up. He kept replaying a part of the dream over and over since waking at dawn. John, embracing him, whispering to him, "Please forgive me." It felt so real. But, it wasn't in the older Winshester's nature to ask forgiveness. Especially from his son. He'd been a hard son of a bitch on him, even when tossing him a complement. It always seemed to be a backhanded one at that. "Ya did good Dean, but ya should've held the gun like this."

He never seemed to measure up to John's standards. Yeah, he was John's soldier, but not his favorite. That spot had been reserved for Sam. Always had been, always would be. He'd figured that out a long time ago, but kept it to himself. Even when John had been a bastard to Sam when he'd decided to go to Stanford. Dean understood why Sam did what he did. Didn't harbor ill will or resentment. Not at Sam, but John was another story. Dean stayed behind, stuck it out with their dad and the hunting. Yet, he suspected if John had his choice, Sam would be there instead of him. It was just another thing he buried deep, deep down, not taking out to examine very often. What good would that do him anyway?

John was dead. Given a hunter's funeral.

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. But, he couldn't let it go. Forgiveness? Sam had told him he needed to forgive and forget. Sam was a hell of a lot better at that. Always had been, even as a kid. Dean would never admit it, but he envied some of Sam's easygoing, good natured qualities. They had few pictures of their tattered little family. But, he searched for one in particular, John casually resting against the Impala. He'd been a young man in that picture. A warm smile on his face, carefree and happy. He found it in between the pages of John's journal. He stared at it, the black and white photo, held gingerly in his hand.

Pulling out a chair, he dropped down into it, resting his arms on the table in front of him. He tossed the picture away from him. "Please forgive you?" He'd spoken the words to no one, but knew who they were for. "For what? Not giving us a chance at a normal childhood? For being such a bastard at times? For driving Sammy away? For keeping me at arms length? For putting the hunt before us? For packing us up and moving just when we'd get settled, happy?" He let out a harsh laugh at his spoken thoughts. "Did I miss anything?"

He reached across the table and grabbed at the photo. His movements caused the photo to float off the table and onto the floor. He growled in frustration. Getting up quickly, he upended the chair. He stalked to the other side of the table, bending down to grab the photo. Fighting the urge to crumple it into a ball or rip it into tiny pieces. The word slammed into his mind. Forgive. He gritted his teeth, feeling his jaw lock in anger. He shook his head. No. He wanted to scream that word, no. Wanted to yell at John for all the hurt he'd caused. All the wrong he'd heaped on them. The love he denied them as a father. He needed to calm down before he did something he'd come to regret later. Like, ripping apart the cabin. Breaking furniture. He forced himself to walk back over to the toppled chair and pick it up. Not throw it against the wall, but push it back in.

He looked down at the photo he still held in his hand and walked over to where he'd left the journal. Picking up the journal he replaced the picture on one of the pages. Looking at the picture he heard himself. "I should forgive you, but I can't, yet. Not yet."

From:

Very nice! It's very Dean. And I think he has the right to not forgive John for his abhorrent parenting. If John had been a better father the boys wouldn't have half of the problems they have now. Well done!

From:

Thank you. I'm glad you liked it. Dean definitely has that right. John definitely did a number on those boys.

From:

tigriswolf

Ooh, nice. Thank you!

From:

Thank you. I'm happy you liked it.

From:

Brooklyn Nine-Nine, Ray Holt/Kevin Cozzner + the Nine-Nine gang, Ray asks Kevin to forgive him for inflicting the whole gang on him, but Kevin doesn't really mind (much)

From:

Any fandom with a dog, Human + dog, begging the dog's forgiveness for stepping on its paw

From:

purplemoon3.livejournal.com

“B-!” Lydia heard her thane's shout as though it was right next to her ear, loud and panicked and familiar. The voice of a Dragonborn. Lowering Dawnbreaker from where she had braced from the last vampire's explosive death, the Whiterun native checked her own armor for signs of fracture or failure. Finding none, Lydia sheathed the sword and sought our her thane. She had to navigate around a scorched pillar and several twice-dead bodies before spotting his crouched form.

Surprisingly, her thane was not stripping valubles from their slain foes. Her thane's face was twisted in horror, and Lydia's hand went to the pommel of the gifted blade out of reflex, but, no there were no new enemies to fight. There was just-

“You shot me!” Barbas accused with a mulish whine, and Lydia snorted at the arrow sticking out of the daedric beast's ass. She never complained so much even when Dresden had accidentlly hit her with Sparks. Sure, he'd later given her the Staff for her own use as apology -gave her most enchanted weapons, actually- but the point was one did not fight with a Dragonborn. One fought around him.

She shuddered to think what any of the Companions would do if his lack of team coordination ended up sending a stray shot at one of them.

“I'm sorry!” The Dragonborn blubbered, gaunleted hands shaking as he patted Barbas' furry rump and started to extract the arrow. “Stars-! I'm so sorry. It was just, and you were-! FUCK.”

“Woe! Woe unto me! Betrayed!” The beast wailed in his strange accent, yipping a little as Dresden removed the iron tip from his shaggy hide. One hand was desperatly trying to thumb off the plug of one of their very precious healing potions. Dresden could barely cast a novice healing spell, let alone keep one up for longer than five seconds.

“It is your ownself to blame!” Lydia could not stop the chastisement that tumbled from her mouth, disrespectful. She steeled herself against the dispairing look and cry of her own name that her thane shot her. “I told you. I told you. But, no, for all your immortality you are as stupid as any other dumb beast!”

She nodded, firm, but kept one hand light on Dawnbreaker. If the creature shed his coat there was a slim chance the artifact of another Daedra would slow it down long enough for her thane to escape.

“Immortal?” Brown eyes blinked at her, and Lydia was again reminded that for all his streangth and the soul residing within the Dragonborn was yet a young man. A very young man.

Gently, she said, “Check the arrow head, my thane, is there blood?”

“It still hurts, ya know.” The beast complained.

The boy glanced at the ruined arrow he'd tossed aside, but as she expected it was clean if a little dulled and cracked. Barbas yelped again as the Dragonborn grabbed it by the hips and practically buried his face in the fur as he searched for an absent wound. Slowly, the grab turned into a hug as her charge lay down in the ash and muck of the abandoned grotto. Barbas' eyes had closed in pleasure as Dresden's fingers expertly scratched behind his ears.

Lydia did not like the look of consideration that was filling a normally guileless face. She cleared her throat. “Shall we press on, my thane? The axe?”

“...Justin never let us have pets...”

Dammit.

End.

A/N- Not exactly a stepped paw, but I thought I might exercise a concept I've been playing with. Bascially, He-Who-Walks-Behind is Hircine and all Daedra are outstiders but not all outsiders are Daedra. This leads to complications.

From: