Tuesday, The Dead and The Dying

[phantisma.livejournal.com]

Greetings! I am still phantisma (also known as Amara)

I may love me some crack, but I'm also an angst whore, so today's theme is "The Dead and the Dying"...It's all about the death....whether it's killing off a favorite character or putting them through the death of a loved one or making that choice to kill...as long as someone's dying or already dead, it's all good.

As always, obey the rules:

* Three prompts per fandom, and no more than five total. If one of your prompts is filled, you may post another.
* No spoilers for new shows/seasons until at least one week after airing.
* If your fill contains spoilers, please warn for it and leave enough space for people to pass by.




Feed the overworked codemonkeys correctly formatted prompts (and not overly long, don't write the story for them, inspire them):

Kane RPS, Steve/Chris, car accident
Supernatural, Sam & Dean, not like this
Stargate SG-1, Daniel/Jack, unexpectedly simple



Or you can visit our lonely prompts...

Comments

[phantisma.livejournal.com]

Kane RPS, Steve/Chris, car accident

no fill...

[canadiangoddess.livejournal.com]

you are mean and evil and I hate you

<3

[phantisma.livejournal.com]

Supernatural, Sam & Dean, not like this

[weesta.livejournal.com]

The Winchesters had died many times over, trading their lives for one another. They ran together in a montage of images: the car accident that had virtually killed Dean; the psychic super-soldier who had stabbed Sam in the back; strangulation; shooting; electrocution. Dean ripped to pieces by Hell Hounds. Sam jumping into The Pit.

It made Dean believe that there was nothing they couldn’t come back from, but Dean didn’t factor in the weight of a soul.

He never should’ve left Sam alone, especially since Sam had become inexplicably agreeable. He should’ve questioned Sam’s sudden calm; no longer restless every waking and sleeping moment. He should have wondered why Sam gave him his watch.

In the end, it was no weapon that ended the life of Sam Winchester. It was the weight of a wall tumbling down. A wall that was demolished not with a scratch, but with a sledgehammer, because Sam had to know.

Death waited patiently, allowing Dean, his rare friend, to grieve. Dean shook his head over and over, weeping over the body of the brother he cradled in his arms – it was never supposed to end this way; not like this.

[phantisma.livejournal.com]

Stargate SG-1, Daniel/Jack, unexpectedly simple

[jaune-chat.livejournal.com]

Heroes, Sylar and any, they never thought they would finally see him die

[jaune-chat.livejournal.com]

Firefly, crew, laying one of their own to rest

[samueljames]

Chuck, Chuck/Casey, one if them is killed on a mission and the other is trying to hide the full extent of their grief because nobody else knew about their relationship.

[youaredriving.livejournal.com]

Chuck saw it before Casey did. Even in the mesh of limbs, gun fire and movement, Chuck saw it first for once. He couldn’t move fast enough, he couldn’t fight hard enough. He just couldn’t get to Casey in time. It was just his hands pressing as hard as he could manage on the red blossoming across Casey’s chest. Chuck didn’t like the way Casey’s hand rested on his wrist and those eyes seemed to be saying everything the man wanted to say.

“You can’t do this to me,” Chuck whispered as his hands slipped and he rested his face next to Casey’s, “You’re John Casey. Supposed keep me in line. Keep me from falling. Promised to love each other for forever.”


Chuck stared at the apartment across from his, remembering how many times he’d sneak out the Morgan Window and slip through the doorway to be covered by the man waiting on the other side of the door. If he could just have that one more time, one more stolen moment like that.

Covering his mouth, closing his eyes, Chuck rested his forehead on the glass. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair being left alone like this.
“Chuck?” Ellie’s voice broke his thoughts, “We’re going out to dinner in an hour if you want to come with?”

Chuck wiped below his eyes, wondering what the correct response would be here before he nodded, “Yeah, let me grab a shower and I’ll be ready.”
“Are you okay?” Chuck could hear her steeping further into his room. He didn’t want her to stop, he didn’t want her to see. He plastered a smile on his face before turning around and he nodded.

“Yeah,” Chuck moved into the closet grabbing his clothes, “I’m fine. I’m just not feeling all that great today, a nasty headache that won’t go away. I think going out might help a little.”

“Are you sure?” Ellie’s brow furrowed in worry but Chuck just moved passed her with clothes in hand.

“Yeah, a hot shower and dinner is all I need.” Chuck closed himself off in the bathroom, turning the shower on as hot as it would go before stepping into the scalding water. He didn’t want to eat. He didn’t want to feel better. Everything hurt so much he didn’t think he could feel better if that was even a possibility. The one thing he wanted was gone and would always be gone because he wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t fast enough to stop him from dying. He was the Intersect, he should have been able to do something.

He could feel the ache, the sob breaking from his chest and Chuck knew he was helpless to stop it. He felt empty, like a part of his soul was missing and he was the only who knew it.

Drying his skin, his tears, Chuck pulled on his clothes and stared at himself in the mirror. His skin tinged red, no evidence of his soul wrenching cries, no evidence that he was alone again. He rubbed at the scruff on his cheeks and sighed before he headed out to see Ellie, Devon and Morgan waiting on him.

“Ready?”

“Just need to put on my shoes.” Chuck felt his lips curl upwards and his stomach roil in distaste. It was hard to breathe with out hearing John Casey’s taunts in the background.

[samueljames]

Desperate Romantics, Fred/Gabriel, missing Lizzie.

[jaune-chat.livejournal.com]

SPOILERS for Fringe 3x11 - Reciprocity!
.
.
.
.

Fringe, team, Peter had to heal the breach with the machine. They knew it all along, even him. And deep down, they all knew what it would cost him.

[makeitrednblack.livejournal.com]

Naruto, Itachi, sickness

[samueljames]

The Vampire Diaries, Damon/Alaric, Stefan is staked and Damon spirals out of control with Alaric trying his best to help.

[jaune-chat.livejournal.com]

Burn Notice, Mike, Fi, Sam, and Jesse, Death in the fast lane; there's little time to mourn

Fill: Saying Goodbye (1/1)

[rise-your-dead.livejournal.com]

There must be prayers to be said; somehow, some way. Michael's tongue felt like lead in the back of his throat, cool and heavy.

Fiona hid her sadness behind a façade of anger. That and her cache of heavy weapons helped her survive every mild fall and major lift. "Don't stand with your cock waving in the bloody breeze," she demanded.

He turned to Sam - Sam who was the most devastated by their loss, who turned to Michael with confused, panicked look on his face. "Mike. You gotta do it."

Michael closed his eyes and crossed his hands before him. No poet could have done what he was about to do with finesse. He would try his damndest to make this count.

"Mom, we'll miss you.."

[jaune-chat.livejournal.com]

Dollhouse, Echo + any, towards the end of her life, Echo can feel her other imprints slowly dying

[alexiel-neesan.livejournal.com]

DCU, Tim & Jason, no other choice

defining moment - PG, gen, mish-mash of various DCU sources

[tigriswolf]

The kid is down on his knees, coughing up blood. The Joker (and of course it's the fucking Joker, it's always the Joker) is laughing that goddamned mad scientist cackle that haunts Jason's nightmares and waking moments, and Batman is out of town helping Dickie-boy with some catastrophe so he's not here to swoop in and save this Robin like he didn't the last one.

The kid is coughing up blood, and this is one of those moments, Jason knows. The kind Alfred used to talk about, the kind that let you know who you are, hero or god-awful bastard. Good guy or monster. (Maybe, he thinks Alfred might say now, some people are both.)

The Joker has a crowbar and about two dozen goons. Jason has a shitload of guns and the will to use them.

The kid is coughing up blood, and Batman isn’t here.

Jason takes aim at Joker first, shooting out his shoulder, and then turns his gun on the goons.

He will kill the Joker, but he’ll do it with his bare hands, after he gets the kid some medical care. Jason’ll be the last Robin the Joker murders, cackling that goddamned laugh.

[samueljames]

Star Trek XI, Bones/Jim, Jim opens up about his father's death and his guilt for resenting George because Jim's birthday was always a day of mourning.

[samueljames]

Dexter, Dexter and Deb, visting their parents' grave together and Dexter trying to be appropriately upset and failing.

[ruuger]

The Mentalist, Jane, making the funeral arrangements for his family

[octavia5000.livejournal.com]

Deadwood, Seth/Sol, comfort after Seth's son dies

[tigriswolf]

Inception, Eames/Arthur or gen, Arthur sometimes wonders if he should be worried that it's just as easy to kill awake as in a dream

[tigriswolf]

Alias, Will/Francie, she may have been Allison but she died looking like Francie

[octavia5000.livejournal.com]

Band of Brothers, Lipton/Shifty, don't be afraid; I won't let anything take you from me

[tigriswolf]

A-Team film, Hannibal/Face&BA/Murdock, Face lives long enough to avenge his team's death

The Finale

[jennytork.livejournal.com]

It takes ten long, lonely years.

Ten years to track down every one of the sonofabitches who made him, for all intents and purposes, a widower.

Ten years to destroy them. He wouldn't use the word 'kill' on them. "Kill" was what they did do his Team. "Kill" was ripping a part of someone's soul away forever.

"Kill" was too good for the likes of them. So he didn't kill them. He destroyed them.

(Sometimes at night, when he can't sleep and the ghosts come to call, he worries if maybe he was killing after all. If he wasn't destroying families like his had been torn apart. If he wasn't creating twenty-four others like him to be loosed on the world. When he allows himself the rare luxury of feeling anything but rage and revenge, it frightens him.)

One by one, he destroys them. One by one, they are removed from the world.

Twice, he's nearly fatally wounded himself. Twice, he puts himself back together with little more than spit and baling wire and resumes his mission.

Suddenly, only five are left.

Then four.

Then two. He caught two together.

Then, at last, there was only one left.

And when he lies dead at Face's feet, there remains only one thing to do.

"I'm coming home," Face whispers. He lays down beside the corpse and just closes his eyes.

When he opens them, his family is there. Waiting for him.

[badgerling.livejournal.com]

Stargate SG-1, Daniel/Cameron, it's hard enough losing a teammate, but it's worse when you're the only ones left

[tigriswolf]

Highlander, Methos/Duncan, the Watchers are responsible for Duncan's death and Methos goes to war

Quiet War

[icarus-chained.livejournal.com]

(Hope this is what you're looking for?)

Neither Joe nor Duncan had realised it. Adam Pierson had been harmless, after all. That incarnation of Methos, even at the worst, even at the best, had always had something harmless about him, something cowardly and slinking and dependable. They never realised (though Joe had come close) the full implications of where they'd found him, the full implications of an immortal so familiar with the Watchers that he could infiltrate them with ease. They hadn't realised. Had watched, but hadn't seen. No-one had.

No-one would, now. No-one would have a chance.

His war was quiet. His wars always were. Riding in, sword drawn, had been Kronos' schtick. Methos planned. Methos manipulated. Methos had watched empires rise and fall, and quietly helped many a one along its way. He didn't need armies. He didn't need swords.

He just needed the right information. Just needed to know who was going to be where, who was watching who, who might like to know they were being watched. Who might like to know that the eyes on their backs were the same as those who had watched Duncan Macleod fall. The same as those who had ordered it done. The same as those who'd killed him, who'd been a hero to so many. All Methos needed was a word in the right ears, and the database he himself had created and slipped inside the Watcher's guard.

And softly, silently, one by one, the Watchers started to fall. To immortals, first. To the ones they watched. And then, slowly, insidiously, to each other. As they started to turn on themselves, tearing themselves apart in search of the traitor, in search of the hands at the keys that set their charges against them. In search of him.

But Methos was good at not being found. Oh, he was so good at that.

Inside a decade, it was over. Inside a decade, he brought them to their knees. For himself, perhaps. For the safety of immortals everywhere, when Watchers were turning wholesale to Horton's viewpoint. To prevent discovery, to prevent war. All of that, perhaps. In ten years, he'd driven one of the world's oldest organisations to its knees, and maybe those would be the reasons why, one day.

But today he stood over his student's grave, over the grave of Duncan Macleod, over the man whose quickening had almost held Methos' own, and who no-one now would ever hold again. Today, Methos looked down at another fallen student, another boy he'd loved, and nursed the quiet truth.

They had taken what he loved from him. And in five thousand years, through the rise and fall of empires and the billions of deaths of men ... no-one yet had ever survived doing that. One way or another. No brother, lover, emperor or slave, had ever survived taking what was his.

"I'll build them again," he whispered, for Joe's sake, for Duncan's. "The Watchers. I'll make them better this time." He'd done it before. Make them and break them. He'd done it before.

And one day, perhaps ... he'd do it again.

[octavia5000.livejournal.com]

The Pacific, any/Sledge, one last kiss

[tigriswolf]

Highlander, Methos, "All these children keep challenging me, without the first clue as to what I truly am."

Monsters

[icarus-chained.livejournal.com]

(A somewhat darker slant on this one -_-;)

Footsteps sounded cautiously near him as the scream of the quickening faded. Quickenings. Three. He hadn't wanted to take three, hadn't wanted to bear it. They hadn't given him all that much choice.

"Adam?" a gruff voice asked softly, hesitantly. Joe. Always Joe. "Old man? You okay?"

"They keep challenging me," he answered quietly. Hoarsely. "All these children keep challenging me, without the first clue as to what I truly am." He looked up, conscious of the blood on his hands, in his eyes. Conscious of the corpses, headless, three.

Two of them had knives in their hearts, keeping them safely down until he had time to kill them. One of them had a neat little bullet hole between his eyes, too. It hadn't had time to heal before ... The third had been the worst. Just swords, for them, once he'd eliminated the advantage of their ganging up on him. Just swords, and the stupid child hadn't even been close to a match ...

"Do they think they're the first to try it?" he asked, vicious, surprised by his own anger. But three, so young ... such a waste. "Do they think no-one's ever thought to cheat before? Do they think that every immortal they meet is just going to crumble, that no-one's going to know how to fight back just because they don't?" He snarled, staggering to his feet, ignoring Joe's steadying hand. "Does no-one teach them?"

"People teach 'em. They had a teacher, Methos. These ones. They killed him." Methos choked back a laugh, and Joe squeezed his shoulder, blue eyes staring at him in worry. "I was coming to warn you. To warn Mac. They've killed six immortals in the last two years. When I heard someone spotted them with you, I was afraid ..."

"You shouldn't be," Methos said. Darkly, bitterly. He laughed, soft and black, and turned away. "Do you know what 'outlaw' means, Joe? It used to be a punishment. If you broke the rules. No-one arrested you. No-one hunted you down. No-one had to. Because once you broke the rules, you were outside them. They didn't protect you anymore. Once you broke the rules, you were fair game, for all the monsters of the world."

He looked up, found Joe watching him quietly, found the understanding in those sad, blue eyes, more worldly than many immortals. He met Joe's eyes, and looked down at the corpses at his feet, and his smile turned soft and bleak.

"I'm the reason the Game has rules, Joe," he said quietly. "Me and those like me. We're the monsters waiting for the rules to break, waiting for someone to open the door and step out into the cold." He leaned down, closed filmed, bewildered eyes. Let the child go.

"And monsters always take the children first ..."