My Imagination Ran Away With Me

by lazaefair

Summary:

This is an extended series of crossover ficlets. Some silly, some serious, some raunchy, all improbable. Written for a meme, and about the most fun I've had with crossovers in ages.

1. Write down the names of 10 characters.
2. Write something for every prompt, using the characters determined by the numbers. Do NOT read the prompts before you do step 1.

1. Larry Daley (Night at the Museum)
2. Dean Winchester (Supernatural)
3. Tony Stark (Iron Man movie)
4. James T. Kirk (Star Trek Reboot)
5. Yatsuha (Samurai Champloo)
6. Jack Carter (EUReKA)
7. Edmund Pevensie (Narnia)
8. Hermione Granger (Harry Potter)
9. Jason Bourne (Bourne series)
10. Meryl Strife (Trigun)

These range from PG to R.

First time, 4 and 6 (James T. Kirk and Jack Carter)
Funfest pairing! Great way to start a meme.

"So you feeling okay about your first accidental time jump?" Jack grinned, and not just because his hands were full of something blond, carefree, and entertaining as hell. Who'd been flirting outrageously with Jack since the entire crazy crew stepped off their crazy spaceship from the future straight onto Eureka's main street. And frankly, Carter was tired enough of waiting for Smart, Dark, and Snarky (either of them) that he figured even temporally displaced ass was ass worth having.

It didn't hurt that James T. Kirk was unbelievably hot and apparently had a thing for older men, or so he said. It seemed more accurate that he had a thing for everyone - but Jack wasn't going to question it, hell no.

"I'd like to think I'm handling it pretty well," Kirk waggled his eyebrows and carried on with the business of unzipping pants and grinding salaciously against Jack's hip. Offhand, "Have to say, you're not like any small town sheriff I've come across." Then he closed his hand around Jack's cock and simultaneously licked a stripe up Jack's neck.

It took a few moments for him to grab the thoughts that had so unceremoniously scattered. "Jesus! Uh - yeah, Eureka isn't your average small town."

"But also," Kirk said as he slid to his knees, "most of them wouldn't let me do this."

 

Angst, 7 (Edmund Pevensie)
Writing angst for the Pevensies is like feeding bacon to a dog: it's just begging for it.

The first time they heard a bard sing about "Edmund the Traitor" in a tavern, Edmund put his fork down, closed his eyes briefly, and got up and went upstairs without a word to Peter.

After a few minutes, the rough wood door to their room creaked open and Peter came in. Edmund was curled up on the bed in a very un-king-like manner.

"We knew we weren't going to see and hear things that we liked," Peter said softly, sitting down next to his brother.

"'s the whole point, I know," Edmund muttered. "Wasn't meant to be a lark," echoing the words he'd uttered himself when they started out on the whole venture, disguising themselves as anonymous travelers and wandering around Narnia for a week. "Survey what the common people think," he said bitterly.

"You didn't hear the end of the song," Peter said quietly. "He sang about your valor in the final battle."

Edmund moved his head, a jerk of a nod. "But it isn't like he was making it up." Resigned, "The worst part is he was just telling the truth."

 

AU, 1 and 8 (Larry Daley and Hermione Granger)
Hmm…I've never written this particular infamous AU. So let's see what happens…

"What's that?" Hermione Granger - British exchange student #3 and automatically popular as a result - asked one day.

"Oh, this?" Larry Daley - Dorkus Malorkus #12 and known mostly for his spectacular pratfalls every other day - glanced down at the thing in his hand, all fake-casual, and nonchalantly tried to open his locker door at the same time. Then he glared murderously at it when it refused to budge and he had to wrench it open.

The curly-haired girl managed a tolerantly amused expression. In Larry's considered opinion (usually considered at length, frequently, and at 3:00 in the morning), she was the only human being on the planet who could make math textbooks look like sexy hipster accessories.

"Uh," Larry said when he'd picked up the dead sandwiches and loose papers that had fallen out. So much for the attempt to not be a total loser today, goddammit. "I like to call it the Clip-o-Matic Lightning 3000. A source of light so convenient, you won't know you have it most of the time!" He brandished it defensively at Granger.

"It...looks like a torch on a keyring," she said, with what sounded like an attempt at a neutral tone.

"Yeah, well, it's all my own invention," Larry said with all the confidence he could muster. "You could try it out? I have a couple more at home." He held the flashlight out.

She smiled, which made his brain skip a few seconds, and said, "Thanks, but I think I'll manage," which didn't. He watched her go with his heart sinking. He vowed to do better. Clip-o-Matic Lightning 4000, here I come.

 

Threesome, 3, 6 and 9 (Tony Stark, Jack Carter, Jason Bourne)
Holy fuck, this is, like. The threesome from hell.

"This can't be right," Carter said, gingerly poking one of the…implements…laid out on the mahogany coffee table. "This is so beyond wrong, it's…"

"Come out to the other side as right again?" the man named Tony Stark said, his voice muffled from behind the huge TV which (they'd investigated) played only the mood music channel and porn.

"God, no, it's still way wrong."

There were three of them, including Jack. And they had all three woken up sprawled together on a massive, obscenely comfortable bed inside what looked like one of those obnoxiously opulent suites on the penthouse floor of hotels that appear in travel magazines that regularly taunted Jack and his sheriff's salary, but apparently Stark was pretty used to. Except this one didn't have a door. Or windows.

What it did have was an impressive array of sex toys, lube, and bondage gear tastefully arranged on the coffee table.

Stark pulled his head out from behind the TV. "As far as I can tell, the electrical wires connect to nothing. This place is totally self-contained - I can't find a power source. Hell, there isn't even electricity going through these things."

"How is that possible?" the man named Jason Bourne said from his position leaning against the wall. He stored more tension in his body than any guy Jack had ever seen, and Jack worked around neurotic scientists on a daily basis, so that was saying something.

Stark shrugged. "Search me. Seen anything like it in Eureka, Carter?"

"Even GD has power sources, but I don't know half of what goes on there," Jack said. "We don't even know if we're still in the US, anyway. They say the only other country with Eureka's equivalent is…Russia?" He and Stark turned towards Jason questioningly.

Jason shrugged. "Look, I'm just a rogue government assassin. Go find the desk monkeys if you want hard intel on other countries."

"Right. Great." Jack gently rubbed circles in his temples. "We could be anywhere. Any votes on Hell?"

"It'd be Purgatory, if anything," Jason interjects dryly, making Jack revise his opinion on the man. So he did have a sense of humor.

"Okay. So we don't know who tossed us in here - aliens, magic, whatever," Stark said thoughtfully. "But we do know they really, really wanted us to have sex," and that was a quick, sly smile at--

"Whoa, whoa whoa, hey," Jack put his hands up and stepped away from the coffee table and its suggestive contents.

Stark smirked and, alarmingly, started moving towards Jack in a way that could only be described as predatory. "Well I, for one, don't intend to spend enforced isolation bored out of my skull. I could think of worse ways to pass the time."

"Yeah, for starters that'll take way, way more cocktails than could possibly exist in the world. And dinner. At least dinner." Jack looked towards Jason for possible heterosexual moral support, only to find a faintly speculative expression on the other man's face. Bourne met his gaze, then nodded his head towards the coffee table.

"What…huh."

Amid the array of rubber and steel now appeared a silver tray with three loaded plates, place settings, and a wine bucket complete with ice and wine bottle.

Bourne unfolded himself, walked across the room, and poked carefully at the lobster. "I wouldn't rule out aphrodisiacs in the food, given recent trends."

"It's really disturbing how well both of you are taking this," Jack said.

"Sure you don't want to be 'taking it' too?" Stark needled with a now truly salacious grin.

"Oh, for…" Jack's voice died away as glowing green letters started appearing out of nowhere, floating in the air above the dinner.

Tony wandered over next to Jason and waved a hand through the solidifying letters. "I have got to get my hands on their holographic tech." He whistled appreciatively.

It is decreed that the individuals of Tony Stark, Jack Carter, and Jason Bourne shall have sex to please the Gods of Fandom.

"What?"

"What the hell?"

They shall not be released from Unit 547 until the three named individuals have commenced fucking like bunnies for a sufficient amount of time. The toys are optional, we just thought they might help set the mood.

"Well, that's a relief," Jack said, rolling his eyes.

"What I want to know is what they think a 'sufficient amount of time' is," Tony said reflectively.

And no protests, we know you're all bisexual and have poorly hidden sexual tension with other male members of your respective casts.

"Who are these people?"

"They have a point," Tony said, openly grinning. Jason actually cracked into what looked like a ruefully appreciative smile.

As Fandom has decreed, so it shall be done.

The glowing letters flickered and died, leaving silver trails in everyone's vision.

It was Jason who broke the silence. "So."

"So."

"So," Tony said cheerfully, and Jack turned his head to find his field of vision filled with goatee and easy leer, while Jason had folded his arms off to the side and looked like he was very poorly restraining laughter. "So, handsome. The gods have spoken. Seems to me there's just one thing left to clear up…just how many cocktails, did you say?"

 

Hurt/comfort, 5 and 10 (Yatsuha and Meryl Strife)

"Fucking insurance. Fucking neutralizing jobs. Fucking insurance fucking liabilities," the dark-haired ninja growled between clenched teeth.

"You're telling me," Meryl agreed with feeling. She slid Yatsuha's arm closer around her neck, more firmly securing the other woman as they limped across the desert with sixteen empty derringers, one melted semi-automatic, three missing throwing knives and one very badly mangled leg between them.

Yatsuha continued cursing for a while, until the morning sun started beating down in earnest and she gave up, hanging her head and concentrating on breathing.

The two women had very little occasion for levity. They'd left Millie and Hankichi behind doing clean-up on the ugly aftermath of the past few days, and struck out for the closest two-bit town with a bed and an emergency kit. The proprietor of The Dune Inn blanched when he looked up and witnessed Yatsuha and Meryl tracking sand and blood all over his threadbare carpet. "What--"

"Bed. And hot water," Meryl gritted out, and the glare she administered got him scurrying out to help her lift Yatsuha up the stairs - an endless climb, one step at a time, while her shoulders and knees screamed under the other woman's weight - and into the closest empty room. She sighed when they finally lowered Yatsuha onto the bed and they pulled her leg coverings off, revealing livid lacerations and a profusely bleeding bullet wound.

The innkeeper winced again. "My linens…"

"I need hot water and bandages," Meryl cut him off, slapping several bills into his reluctant palm and stepping past him to light the candle on the table. Ignoring the sound of the innkeeper grumbling and bustling out, she unhooked her belt and dropped it on the scarred wood and went to wash her hands in the water pitcher. Returning to the table, she withdrew a sturdy knife from the belt and passed it through the candle flame several times.

"Meryl?" Yatsuha struggled to sit up until Meryl turned around and approached the bed, shedding her cloak in a pile on the way, and knelt down next to the ninja.

"This isn't going to be pleasant," she murmured, and pushed her sleeves up.

"Tell me something I don't know," Yatsuha rasped with a half-grin, half-grimace.

Meryl looked away. "Where's your flask?"

"Bag. Gimme all the whole thing."

Together they got Yatsuha into a half-sitting position so she could toss the flask's contents back with a shudder and a cough.

"Always carry the best stuff with you, Meryl," Yatsuha declaimed while collapsing into a prone position again. "Dun' wanna do emergency mmm…medical procedures on just any rotgut, right?" She closed her eyes. "Okay. Come on." Meryl slid a rolled washcloth between her teeth.

The innkeeper had returned and Meryl could feel the nervousness radiating off him. She put her hand out for a bandage without looking at the man.

"Next time you're sharing that rotgut," she said to Yatsuha, and started cutting.

 

Crackfic, 1 (Larry Daley)
This is rather difficult given that Night at the Museum is actually crackier than anything fandom could come up with. Do not read without brain-bleach on hand.

"You wouldn't want to keep a lady waiting," Ahkmenrah said in his plummiest Cambridge voice, and Amelia Earhart giggled from under Larry. She was naked, Ahkmenrah was naked, and somehow they were both looking at Larry like he was the one who'd gone insane.

Larry bit his lip, glancing at his lover of two months. "Are you sure--"

Ahkmenrah sighed. "Larry--"

"Larry," his not-quite-yet lover cut in. "Let me say it simply for you. If you don't fuck me right here, right now, you're not getting laid for a month."

"In other words, the lady insists," Ahkmenrah translated smoothly, straight-faced.

And Larry gave in. Who could resist?

 

Horror, 10 (Meryl Strife)

It's not in the training for regular Bernardelli insurance agents to know how to identify real bone from clever imitations. Not, strictly, standard with the job.

Meryl isn’t a regular Bernardelli agent. She's field, and she's the best. She also follows Vash the Stampede. You pick up a lot of experience doing that.

She knows Legato has real skulls in his costume. It’s hard to avoid, really, since her face is pressed right up to them. A sharp edge cuts into the skin below her right eye.

“What do you see, Meryl?” he purrs from somewhere above her.

 

Babyfic, 5 and 9 (Yatsuha and Jason Bourne)
I can't stop laughing. Best prompt ever.

"Why didn't you get word to me?"

"Come on," Yatsuha says patiently, calm in the way only possible to battle-tested ninjas and long-suffering parents of toddlers. "I had no idea if I'd see you again. Plus they might've assigned me to kill you at some point, and that just would've been awkward."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm remembering the protection we used…remember? The condoms? Seem to remember that pretty clearly."

Yatsuha quirks her lips dismissively. "Accidents happen."

She's clearly gleefully relishing the fact that she finally caught the relentlessly professional Jason Bourne off his formidable guard. But babies tend to do that. Especially when the news is accidentally sprung on the unsuspecting father thanks to a check-up phone call from an innocent nanny, while the parents are hanging 800 feet in the air.

Jason seems to be struck dumb for a moment, an incredulous silence markedly different in quality from his usual taciturnity. "So what…how…"? he manages.

"Desk duty for a year," Yatsuha explains. "Then, later - well, I guess you wouldn't be surprised that paramilitary mercenary groups are great at recruiting babysitters with weapons training for their agents."

"I want to talk to her."

"Who?"

"You just had her on the phone. I want to talk to your babysitter."

"What, now?" Yatsuha's eloquent wave nearly takes her off the side of the building, but it manages to encompass the entire precarious circumstance in which they're having this improbable discussion.

"You were just talking to her. Call her back. I want a word with the woman who is taking care of my daughter."

"Tsk. What did I tell you about normative gender roles last time? Steve is doing well, as you heard, and he doesn't need to have his guard put up by the terrifying rogue government assassin who contributed genetic material to the little girl he's watching Pink Panther movies with."

"He's watching over my daughter, if he puts his guard down even once there will be consequences."

Yatsuha rolls her eyes and mutters about "meathead chauvinistic killing machines," but re-dials her wrist unit and holds it up to Jason's mouth, as both of his hands are occupied.

"Hello? Yes? This is Steve? Hi, Steve. My name is Jason Bourne. Have you…yes, good, you've heard of me. You see, the mother of the little girl you're watching Pink Panther movies with just informed me of her daughter's genetic heritage, and it turns out I'm the lucky father. Now…hold on a minute," Jason pauses in response to Yatsuha's gesticulations with her eyes and head, directing his attention to the skyscraper opposite. Noticing the appearance of the target in the window, he lowers his eyes to his sniper scope, squeezes the trigger, and watches the freshly headless corpse of the target fold to the floor. "As I was saying, if you even once so much as allow my little girl so much as a hangnail on her pinky finger, I will personally come over and make your body disappear so deep in the Amazon river basin, archaeologists will sacrifice their lives centuries from now trying to excavate your skeleton. Are we clear? Good. Have a nice evening."

"Finally." Yatsuha rolls her eyes again and clicks the call off. "Are you done acting out your inner caveman?"

Jason grins slightly. "Actually…it was kind of refreshing."

Yatsuha sighs as they both rise to clean the tiny balcony up and wipe down every surface. As they leave, Jason drops a couple bullets, almost carelessly, on his former perch. Yatsuha raises her eyebrows at him, amiably taking his arm while they stroll casually down the hallway, just another pleasant couple leaving their apartment for a nighttime walk or grocery run or cocktail party.

"You know nobody'll buy the Russians trying to assassinate some random child-porn kingpin. They've got no motive."

Jason shrugs. "As long as they never trace it to me, doesn't matter if they pin it on, say, the Swedish, for all I care."

"Well, you did just do my job for me. I suppose I can't complain."

"Call it my first child-support payment," Jason says, deadpan, and Yatsuha cuffs him lightly on the arm, both turning their faces carefully away from the security camera in the elevator.

"Lout."

"This makes you my baby mama, doesn't it?"

Yatsuha hits him harder. "I dare you to say that again."

"You're the breathtakingly beautiful mother of my infinitely lovely daughter, who is the smartest, cutest, most adorable toddler in the world, is that better?"

"Acceptable." They step out of the elevator. "And another thing. If I ever catch you lurking around like some goddamn Peeping Tom, spying on his own daughter, I'll personally feed you to the piranhas in the Amazon next to poor Steve's body."

"But why--"

"Sniper scopes don't count. I will be watching."

"But--"

"You'll come through the front door, like civilized people." She secretly exults in startling another smile out of Jason, then muffles a squeak of surprise when he actually stops on the sidewalk outside, sweeps her into his arms, and plants a kiss on her that can't by any stretch of the imagination be described as 'chaste.'

He's still smiling when they separate a beat later, and something unknots with relief inside Yatsuha's otherwise calloused soul. "Yes, ma'am," he murmurs. In the next moment, he lets her go and she watches him vanish into the nighttime crowds.

"And don't you forget it," she says to empty air and turns to hail a cab, ready to head back to Inspector Clousseau and the joyfully innocent daughter of an assassin and a ninja.

 

Dark, 2 and 8 (Dean Winchester and Hermione Granger)

"So what happens when I break your wand into itty-bitty pieces and grind it to dust under my boots?" Dean twirled the wand lazily in his fingertips, leaning on his elbows on the dirty burn-scarred table in the motel room.

The British chick paled, and then flushed red with - anger? fear? praise whichever diety was up there for pale skin, it was so hard to control. Visible even in the gloom. “This is all a mistake,” she repeated, leaning forward and straining against the ropes. “I’m one of the good guys. You don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, yeah? That cold-blooded homicide back there says different, and believe me, we’d know.”

“That wasn’t what it looked like,” she insisted. “Calliope was a Death Eater. She fled to the States after Voldemort’s death, and--”

“Try again,” Dean cut her off, getting impatient. “What the fuck did you do to her?” Calliope had been feeding them good intel on the demon nest, and then this limey witch had come along and done a wicked-looking number on the redhead, and they’d miraculously managed to disarm her, and here they were.

“It was a spell. The Cruciatus Curse,” the witch said reluctantly, but apparently opting for spilling info to buy herself time, maybe.

Dean smiled grimly, but only to himself. Now they were getting somewhere.

 

Deathfic, 2 and 3 (Dean Winchester and Tony Stark)

Tony: I know I'm forgetting something here…hmm… (his voice, electronically filtered outside the suit helmet, sounds thoughtful)

Dean: These blueprints aren't detailed enough. We're gonna be going in blind.

Sam: Hey, would you have any of those handy extra infrared goggles--

Tony: …oh yes, I remembered. By the way, none of us have to worry about the vampire nest anymore.

Sam: --Huhwah?

(Tony's faceplate flips up to reveal a wolfish grin and two large fangs descending from his mouth)

Dean: Oh, this is so wrong.

Sam: Yeah, you might want to be handling this? Oh, about now? (backs away and gestures frantically at the approaching Tony)

Tony: Pepper tasted so sweet when I turned her. Mm. Strawberries. Wonder what you'll taste like? (curls lip) Probably motor oil. Or dinky motels. You seem the type.

Dean: Hey, easy on the cheap shots here, pal.

Tony: Come on, I'm a millionaire playboy superhero vampire. It's what I do.