Tuesday: Alternate History
Alternate History, also known as Canon Lite. The subject of countless Very Special Episodes, this genre is about small changes having large consequences. So today, give your fandom large changes in its history, or your characters small changes in their personal histories.
Rules:
Rules:
- 3 prompts to a fandom
- no more than 5 prompts in a row
- no spoilers in the ( Read more... )
Warning: This has a few f-words.
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Michael had always been the troublemaker. Even before he was set in the pod, you could tell he’d have a mind of his own. Perhaps that was why they’d not been able to place him with a foster family until he was twelve. And even then, he’d ended up with some grouch out in the trailer park.
He hadn’t just bowed his head and gone willingly. He’d tried to run away-so many times-but the social worker had always found him eventually. At the time, he was too young to understand that Hank should never have been accepted as a foster father in the first place, but the Roswell social system was notorious for not giving much of a shit.
When they took him away, it had been Max who’d stood by the window and watched him go, the nose pressed to the pane so it looked flat and white. Michael had wanted to cry then, but had instead bit his teeth until his jaw hurt.
Max had always been there, they’d had this inexplicable connection ever since they first laid eyes on each other. He vaguely remembered a blond girl that used to be with them, but she had found a home with a foster family early on. It was Max who had remained in the foster home with him, with brief intervals of being shuffled from one temporary family to the next.
Michael actually admired Max for his calm, his sense of duty, his allegiance. Max took everything in stride. Michael had seen the bruises, the scars, from another no-good foster father who’d taken his frustration out on the kid. Yet another telltale sign of the state of the Roswell foster system. And yet, Max had never said a word, had just silently endured. Michael envied him for that ability. And there he was, staring out at Michael being taken away with those inquisitive brown eyes. It was the last Michael had seen of Max since.
Four years later, the inevitable had to happen. Hank had characteristically drunk himself into a stupor, and had consequently had a go at an unsuspecting Michael. And that time, enough was enough, and Michael hadn’t been able to hold back. He’d grabbed the nearest object (which turned out to be a wrench) and defended himself. It landed Hank in the hospital and Michael in the local police station’s holding cell.
It was barren and bleak and barely less inviting than the space he’d had in Hank’s trailer. They’d been thoughtful enough to give him a plastic water bottle, but he hadn’t had any food since... he couldn’t even remember. The night before, probably.
He heard a faint voice drifting in from the open space that housed some of the police officers’ desks. “Hey kid, my paperwork from that no-good in holding is still missing some information. Why don’t you go and see if you two don’t bond.”
Not ten seconds later, he heard footsteps approaching, but didn’t bother to look up. If there was one thing Michael wasn’t keen on, it was giving the police the satisfaction of his full cooperation. The more of a surprise it was that the voice addressing him by name was very familiar.
“Michael?”
He looked up, recognition immediately there. “Holy shit, Max!”
“You’re in a holding cell?”
“Sharply deduced,” Michael commented dryly.
“Why?”
“Well, let’s just say the guy who doesn’t even deserve to be called a foster father is a royal asshole, and a violent one, to boot.”
“What did you do?”
“Defended myself...” It came out more as a question than a statement.
“Did you kill him?”
“What? No. Just gave him a good whack in the head. With a wrench. That should teach him a lesson.”
“Shit,” Max just breathed out.
“Yeah.”
Silence stretched on for a long moment, then Max lifted a clipboard that held a few sheets of paper. “Sheriff Valenti gave me this. Apparently it’s still missing some information.”
“Fuck their paperwork,” Michael spat, and Max visibly blanched.
“Okay, I think you might want to cooperate if you wanna get out of here.”
Michael let out a sardonic chuckle. “Yeah, like that’s gonna be any better than juvie.”
“You can’t be serious.”
Michael lifted his shoulders in a resigned shrug, then scrutinized Max. “So, law enforcement, huh? Never pegged as cop material.”
“Oh, I’m not. This is just an internship.”
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