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Summary: Para Liaison Summers, meet the Losers. Crossover with the 2010 movie. Drabble-verse.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Movies > Losers, The(Past Moderator)FaithUnbreakableFR152445,8033830159,65516 Oct 106 Oct 13No

Bedtime Stories

A/N: Frisky boys in this chapter and slashy behaviour of the Cougar/Jensen variety from this point on. Pirates, ye be warned.


Bedtime Stories


In which Cougar and Jensen really need sleep. (Warning for some gore, described in Jensen’s lovely voice.)


The door behind them wasn’t quite closed yet when Cougar pounced on Jensen, and not in the fun way.

Jensen knew to hold still and let the sniper look him over because, yeah, he kind of looked bad. Apart from the stroke of luck of the mission going south so close to where Mom was and could take them in, the night had been absolutely shit.

On Jensen’s Oh Shit We’re Gonna Die Scale, it was a solid seven.

Security had been tighter than expected, with more people and less electronic measures than they’d been led to expect. Jensen’s toys had been all but useless, Jensen and Aisha had gotten cornered while Cougs and Clay had been busy fighting their own way out and Pooch had driven them all mad by yelling at them to get a fucking move on over comms. And while Jensen totally knew how much sitting outside and waiting sucked, Pooch really needed to stop doing that, for fuck’s sake.

Jensen couldn’t think when Pooch got like that.

So he and Aisha had gotten cornered, his favorite laptop had gotten shot and then some asshole punk bitch guard had managed to almost break Jensen’s right hand with a thrown desk chair and bye-bye gun.

Aisha had been un-fucking-helpful, what with bitching and snarking and calling him useless again. Badass chick or not, the woman was seriously starting to grate on his nerves.

So, gun gone, hand busted, laptop shot to shit, Jensen had gone for the nearest available weapon which had happened to be a screwdriver. Yeah. Messy. He’d stabbed the guy that’d gone for his hand, gotten into a bitch fight with two more and then had to pull a fourth off Aisha, who’d let herself be wedged in in a total rookie move. Maybe that’d make her back off.

All in all, Jensen had gotten away okay. He wasn’t dead, his hand wasn’t broken, his bruises would heal. Ribs felt a bit tender, but he’d gotten worse playing a pickup game of football. However. Screwdrivers were not going to become his new murder weapon of choice. Me-ssy. The blood was caking and flaking all over him, dark and rusty and itchy and he looked like he’d gone seventeen rounds in a slaughterhouse against dead pigs or something. Well, probably not.

“Not my blood, dude,” he finally said when Cougs started getting too worked up. He grabbed the sniper by the neck, held him still and repeated, “Not my blood. I’m absolutely peachy and still as beautiful as I was when we were young. Chill out.”

Cougar growled at him because, yes, Cougar occasionally did such stereotypical things. Jensen let go of him with a roll of his eyes and demanded, “Now how about you let me see that graze you’ve been trying to hide?”

Cougar growled again and twisted his torso so Jensen couldn’t reach the bullet graze along his lower ribs. Jensen snorted and opened his mouth to complain about quid-pro-quo or some such shit, when Cougs stepped in too close and kissed him.

Not just Hello, you’re alive but full-fledged Hello, you’re alive, I’m alive, we fucking made it, live another day, I might be dying, fuck me now. Okay, so maybe not the last part. But the rest was totally legit because Jensen had Cougar’s tongue in his mouth and hands on his waist, under his shirt, smoothing along his flanks, making the dried blood itch even more and he was running out of air but Cougs wasn’t letting up and god, god, god, they were alive and this was good, this was hot and fast and distracted him from his ouchies and the people he’d killed with a screwdriver, talk about needing extra therapy, goddamn, and –

“Whoops,” Mom said from the doorway and Cougar and Jensen jumped apart like scalded cats, which wasn’t too far from the truth, at least in Cougar’s case. The cat jokes just never got old.

She didn’t seem to care what she’d interrupted, just shoved into the room with a chipper, “Didn’t mean to disturb you boys. I just forgot to grab clothes.”

She slipped around them without so much as a look at them and into the walk-in closet. Cougar and Jensen watched as she grabbed a pair of jeans and pulled them on before slipping off the over-sized t-shirt and replacing it with one that fit her. She didn’t seem to care that they were watching and, in Jensen’s case, not so subtly drooling. Damn, but that was a fine, tanned back. Scarred, too, which, let’s face it, major turn on. A chick who could kick ass and prove it? Age-Oh-Tee. Hot.

She slipped into a pair of colorful flip flops and turned back around just in time for Jensen to catch something bright disappearing under the hem of her shirt. Ink. Scars and ink. Definitely in love.

Brushing her hair out of her eyes, Mom winked at them. “I’ll leave you gents to it,” she said with an impish smile. “If you need to change the sheets in the morning, hall closet, second door from the left.”

With that, and a jaunty little wave, she was off again, leaving two special ops soldiers staring at her like idiots.

“Did she just?” Jensen asked, pointing at the closed door, the closet and the bed in turns.

“Si,” Cougar confirmed.

“Just like that?”


“I mean, not that the others aren’t all kinds of cool about this, but that was kind of, and in her bed, man?”

Cougar was nodding along, because agreeing verbally twice had used up his allotted words for the next forty-five minutes. Jensen just kept pointing and rambling and finally came to the conclusion, “Someone needs to put a ring on that chick.”

Because, no, really. You didn’t find women like that on the street. Okay, maybe you did, but not really, because, thing was, Mom was awesome. And kickass. And pretty and inked and scarred and flirty and happy-go-lucky in the way Jensen kind of was and she loved her niece and she didn’t mind two strangers doing the horizontal mambo in her bed at two in the morning as long as they changed the sheets afterwards.


Seriously. Fuck. Brain broken.

“I’m taking a shower,” Jensen announced, shaking off the confusion because it was way too late and he was way too bloody to actually think about sex, despite the blatant invitation to test the mattress.

The bathroom was… unexpected. No trace of pink or blue, for one. It was all whites and beiges and luxury right down to the rugs on the floor. Jensen felt like he was messing the place up just by being there. He carefully toed the light rugs to one end of the room and started stripping off his grimy clothes. Cougar joined him a moment later, made sure to close and lock the door.

A minute later they had a pile of ruined clothes to burn. The only salvageable thing was Cougar’s jeans, which were filthy as hell from crawling around God knows where, but not stiff with blood and not torn and these days, that absolutely counted for a win. The shower was big and awesome and hot but they just got down to business, and not the fun, dirty kind.

Mom had sort of broken what little of a moment they’d managed to scrounge up. Alive and kicking and not bleeding to death only carried a guy until the adrenaline ran out. After that it was all, ick, bloody, and ouch, hurt, and damn, another set of clothes ruined, and shit, I need a bed to conk out in for twelve hours and hopefully forget the past day ever happened. Amen.

Jensen got done first, climbing out of the shower with a snicker at the fact that Cougs was washing his hair with girly shampoo that smelled of vanilla or some such shit. Still, vanilla definitely beat eau-de-brain-matter. Apparently, Cougs had shot some fucker at really, really, really close range.

And of course he hadn’t thought that worth mentioning, noooo. Why would he mention to Jensen that he’d blown some random dude up in his own face? It wasn’t like that kind of shit was dangerous and freaky and gave anyone nightmares. Nope. Not at all.

Sometimes Jensen wanted to strangle Cougs. A lot. So really, he totally deserved the ribbing he was gonna get for smelling like…, like… cake. Really girly cake.

Jensen grabbed some clean clothes out of the duffel he’d dumped by the door and then stared at his gear for a very, very long moment. He should clean that shit, get it back in order, ready to run.

But they were safe here. Clay had said so and Mom was kickass and he was tired. So he just shoved his gun into the back of his boxers and his favorite knife under the pillow he planned to bed his pretty head on in a moment.

Then he sat at the end of the bed and just stared around the room, not really seeing much of it. Light walls, dark furniture. Classy. There were pictures on one wall, of a brunette with a baby, a dark haired guy with the same baby. Of Mom with yet another brunette, who looked seriously hot, too. A redhead and an old guy with glasses. Mom with a few of them. Rinse, repeat. There was one of a rag-tag band of guys in camo, Clay and Rogue among them. The Losers, pre-Jensen days then. And pre-Cougs and even pre-Pooch. Early days. They looked dirty and smelly and annoyed, glaring at the camera and yeah, Jensen had a few of those pictures. Pissed off soldiers forced to hold still.

Jensen’s sister had them all up in the hallway, along with pictures of his niece, of their own childhoods, of friends and parties, candid shots of a dozen people. Jensen thought that’s what Mom was trying to do here, make a picture wall. It looked bare. Too few pictures, too few faces.


Life of a soldier.

There were two swords mounted on the other wall, which was awesome and freaky shit and his fingers were tingling but he was sort of scared of touching them. Mom would probably know and use them to chop his head off. She was that kind of woman. Aisha always knew when someone had so much as looked at her knives and then all hell broke loose and Aisha wasn’t very much like Mom, really, but, still. Point. Somewhere. He had one.

God, he was tired.

Cougs padded out of the bathroom in all his naked glory, went for his own bag. He put on boxers, grabbed his first aid stuff, walked over to Jensen and offered his side. The graze really wasn’t all that bad. Burned, mostly. It had already scabbed over. Jensen made a point of disinfecting it and taping it up neatly.

In exchange he let Cougar prod at the cut on his temple for a bit. Smaller than it looked, hadn’t bled much to begin with, he wasn’t gonna die, yay.

His eyes were already falling shut when Cougar pulled his hands away and the last thing he really heard was a soft, “Jake, lie down,” before everything got soft and warm.

Mom’s bed was possibly the most comfortable Jensen had ever slept in. He might never leave it.


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