withered like a weed; or four scenes where Charlie should've died and one scene when he really did
For: Anti-Charlie week at 
locke_claire
Title: withered like a weed; or four scenes where Charlie should've died and one scene when he really did
Rating: R
Pairing: various
Prompts Used: Death?
Word Count: 1525
Warning: spoilers up to finale, character-death, angst, dark
His legs pounded against the sloppy mud as it flung back up and stained his already drenched jeans. The rain poured down around him as he ran from whatever rutting monster killed the pilot.
He is too bloody young to die.
He has so much left to live for. He’s going to get off this bloody island - maybe he’d get to shag that blonde with the insatiable long legs first - and get to Los Angeles and make that deal so he’ll be a bloody rock god again. He’ll be someone Liam will be proud of.
He runs.
And he trips.
His leg is caught in a rutting tree branch, and he can’t yank it free. The roaring of that thing is getting closer, and he gulps his fear as it threatens to overcome him.
“Hey!” he screams out at the other two (Jack and Kate, or something like that he thinks). He squirms in the mud, desperate to break free of his confines.
He sees the man stop, sees him ponder for a millisecond whether to save him. The monster roars again, and the man mouths an apology as he turns his back on him and runs after the girl.
Charlie dies a bloody death, while clutching his baggy of heroin. They never find the body.
His body swung unnaturally from the binding vines, before the knife slid snapped them in half, causing him to tumble from the tree and hit the muddy ground with a deafening thunk.
Jack yanks off the crude noose and the blindfold, exposing red-raw skin and bloody-purple bruises. Kate gasped and dropped down beside him as he checked for breathing from the lifeless ex-junkie.
“He’s not breathing,” Jack murmured, before starting CPR moments later. Kate grasped her friend’s cold hand desperately, biting her lip in worry. Jack’s raspy breathing matched the rhythm of his pushes against the other man’s chest.
“C’mon. Breathe,” he chanted, over and over and over. Kate sniffled as Jack tried over and over and over to bring their friend back to life. “Breathe, dammit. Breathe.”
“Jack,” Kate whispered. “Jack.”
“C’mon Charlie!” Jack grunted, pounding on his chest again and again. Kate gasped and swept up from the ground, moving away several meters before stopping. With a shudder, she sobbed and wrapped her arms around herself. Jack continued trying to pound life back into the short man, as she cried, shivering not just from the wet, mucky cold.
Finally, she turned back to Jack and their dead friend.
“Jack. Jack! Jack, he’s gone! Jack, stop, stop, he’s gone!” she screamed, desperately trying to pry him away from the corpse. Silent tears streaked Jack’s cheeks as Kate wrapped herself in his limp embrace. “He’s - he’s gone. He’s really gone.”
Charlie is left alone in a muddy field, vines and a cloth lying around his stiff body. Nobody comes back for him, and he is eventually forgotten entirely.
Jin crumbled to the floor with a deafening thud. His sandy-haired companion glanced up and around in shock and confusion, spinning and twisting to try and see who had knocked out the Korean man.
That’s when he saw Ethan.
The older man looked utterly enraged, and was moving towards him at a frightening slow pace. The musician had half a mind to run, flee; but the memory of scared, wild, feminine eyes stopped his legs from cooperating with the logical part of his brain.
“Charlie. I want her back,” Ethan demanded loudly, as he moved continually closer to the frightened man.
“Wha-What? I-I…” he garbled, stumbling back a few steps.
“I want youto bring her back,” Ethan repeated.
An odd sense of determination swept through the ex-junkie and he glared meanly at the other man.
“What did you do to her?” he growled, his breathing raspy and quick as adrenaline pumped through him. Ethan was in front of him now - not anymore then a few meters away from his reach. In a sudden sweep, the musician reached down for a long stick and rushed at the other man, shouting his question again. But Ethan was faster - stronger, much to much for just a stubby ex-junkie to handle alone - and in an instant, the other man had his hand wrapped around the musician’s throat and had pinned him against a tree.
“I really hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” Ethan hissed, his lips brushing against the younger mans ear, who shuddered in disgust.
“I will never do what you want,” he gasped out between panting breaths. Ethan sighed mockingly, glaring down at the ex-junkie.
“I will get her back Charlie. I really wish you could be there to watch her fall,” the Other taunted in the musician’s ear, before slamming the stick that the ex-junkie had been holding straight into his heart. The shorter man gurgled as blood trickled from between his white lips, and Ethan smirked down at the dying man as he fell to the ground.
In an instant, Ethan was kneeling beside him, his lips once again whispering beside the younger man’s ear. “And trust me Charlie, she will fall.”
Charlie is dead within moments, while still clutching the stick that killed him. His body is left in front of Claire’s tent - vines tying him up to a tree, poetic justice - and for some reason, the blonde woman can’t make herself cry.
They all sighed in relief as Hurley crossed the bridge with victory. A second later, licking his lips, the sandy-haired musician started towards the rickety wooden bridge, determined and resolute.
“Charlie!”
“Hey!”
“Hey! If he can do it!” he pointed out snappishly, tilting his head at Hurley who waits patiently at the other side.
The ex-junkie continues slowly across the bridge, as it wobbles underneath his small feet. He grips the rough rope to his left tightly, as slight fear tingles in his stomach.
One step. Two step. Three step.
The niggling of a cough tickles his throat, and he awkwardly smothers it, biting hard on his lip.
Four step. Five step. Six step.
His right arm trembles gawkily in the air, grasping for an unknown source of comfort. He blinks and swallows, praying to get to the other side in once piece.
Seven step. Eight step.
Snap.
Creak.
“Charlie!”
“Move!”
He leaps towards Hurley, his hands grasping for his friend’s own hands, but only grabbing on empty air. A short shriek rises in his throat as he falls several feet down before grabbing onto flimsy thread of rope.
“Charlie!”
“Charlie!”
He gulps and gags and gargles as he hangs desperately on for dear life.
Snap.
Creak.
The rope is torn - he weighs much too much for a single delicate strand of rope to hold - and then he is falling, falling, fallen.
Charlie is left bloody and torn and broken in the gorge, clutching a snapped fiber of rope. It’s probably a blessing for everyone that no one sees the body.
She leans in, just a little, and her lips are on his a moment later. Finally - finally - it’s all come into place. All of this fakeness, all of her lies have paid off, because when she goes to pull away, he yanks her in closer, moaning her name. She grins against his lips, and then CRACK, his blood is dribbling over her already pink lips.
She twists the knife deeper into his gut, and she swears she hears him whimper in her.
Fuck, she’s never felt more alive.
Nobody notices her as she pulls him into the jungle. It’s dark, and nobody sees the large, dark stain on his shirt; or that his eyes are shut and he’s limp on her. All they see is her and him, sneaking off into the jungle after kissing by the fire; and this is why she had to lie to everyone - even John.
He is waiting for her a few kilometers in.
She smirks, presses a kiss - real and warm, unlike the fake, cold one she planted on Charlie’s now dead-white lips just minutes before - against his stubbly cheek. He kisses her back, right on the lips and his tongue tangles with hers in his smooth, passionate way.
“Did you get them?” she breathes when he lets her go to take the ex-musician - ex-everything now, he’s dead - from her grip. Her companion nods his reply, waving off into the darkness.
“They came and took them back to camp a few minutes ago. They just need the soldier - Sayid - and then they’ll have everyone they need. Good work Claire,” he murmurs, caressing her hair back from her face in a way so tender, so unlike his brash personality.
“Thanks.”
They work in silence for several long minutes, before they move to leave in the moonlit shadows.
Charlie is dead, Claire is not innocent and Goodwin is not dead. It should feel wrong, but then Claire smirks, and suddenly everything feels very, very right.
Disclaimer: Songs used for part titles are:
'Monster ate the pilot' created by Lost Writers, used by Charlie Pace in 1x22 Born To Run. Modified by moi.
'Hanging by a moment' created and sung by Lifehouse.
'Weapon' created and sung by Matthew Good.
'Ring around the rosie' created by Unknown. -- is a nursey rhyme.
'You give love a bad name' created and sung by Bon Jovi.
None of these songs are mine. Characters belong to JJ, Damon, Carlton, ABC, Touchstone, etc. :)
This was alot of work, especially since my computer shut down by accident about a million times and I kept loosing my work because Document Recovery wouldn't work for me. It must hate Charlie too. *giggles* So please, love it? *puppy dog eyes*
locke_claire
Title: withered like a weed; or four scenes where Charlie should've died and one scene when he really did
Rating: R
Pairing: various
Prompts Used: Death?
Word Count: 1525
Warning: spoilers up to finale, character-death, angst, dark
- Monster eats the junkie (pilot)
His legs pounded against the sloppy mud as it flung back up and stained his already drenched jeans. The rain poured down around him as he ran from whatever rutting monster killed the pilot.
He is too bloody young to die.
He has so much left to live for. He’s going to get off this bloody island - maybe he’d get to shag that blonde with the insatiable long legs first - and get to Los Angeles and make that deal so he’ll be a bloody rock god again. He’ll be someone Liam will be proud of.
He runs.
And he trips.
His leg is caught in a rutting tree branch, and he can’t yank it free. The roaring of that thing is getting closer, and he gulps his fear as it threatens to overcome him.
“Hey!” he screams out at the other two (Jack and Kate, or something like that he thinks). He squirms in the mud, desperate to break free of his confines.
He sees the man stop, sees him ponder for a millisecond whether to save him. The monster roars again, and the man mouths an apology as he turns his back on him and runs after the girl.
Charlie dies a bloody death, while clutching his baggy of heroin. They never find the body.
- Hanging by a moment here with you (all the best cowboys have daddy issues)
His body swung unnaturally from the binding vines, before the knife slid snapped them in half, causing him to tumble from the tree and hit the muddy ground with a deafening thunk.
Jack yanks off the crude noose and the blindfold, exposing red-raw skin and bloody-purple bruises. Kate gasped and dropped down beside him as he checked for breathing from the lifeless ex-junkie.
“He’s not breathing,” Jack murmured, before starting CPR moments later. Kate grasped her friend’s cold hand desperately, biting her lip in worry. Jack’s raspy breathing matched the rhythm of his pushes against the other man’s chest.
“C’mon. Breathe,” he chanted, over and over and over. Kate sniffled as Jack tried over and over and over to bring their friend back to life. “Breathe, dammit. Breathe.”
“Jack,” Kate whispered. “Jack.”
“C’mon Charlie!” Jack grunted, pounding on his chest again and again. Kate gasped and swept up from the ground, moving away several meters before stopping. With a shudder, she sobbed and wrapped her arms around herself. Jack continued trying to pound life back into the short man, as she cried, shivering not just from the wet, mucky cold.
Finally, she turned back to Jack and their dead friend.
“Jack. Jack! Jack, he’s gone! Jack, stop, stop, he’s gone!” she screamed, desperately trying to pry him away from the corpse. Silent tears streaked Jack’s cheeks as Kate wrapped herself in his limp embrace. “He’s - he’s gone. He’s really gone.”
Charlie is left alone in a muddy field, vines and a cloth lying around his stiff body. Nobody comes back for him, and he is eventually forgotten entirely.
- How it makes you a weapon (homecoming)
Jin crumbled to the floor with a deafening thud. His sandy-haired companion glanced up and around in shock and confusion, spinning and twisting to try and see who had knocked out the Korean man.
That’s when he saw Ethan.
The older man looked utterly enraged, and was moving towards him at a frightening slow pace. The musician had half a mind to run, flee; but the memory of scared, wild, feminine eyes stopped his legs from cooperating with the logical part of his brain.
“Charlie. I want her back,” Ethan demanded loudly, as he moved continually closer to the frightened man.
“Wha-What? I-I…” he garbled, stumbling back a few steps.
“I want youto bring her back,” Ethan repeated.
An odd sense of determination swept through the ex-junkie and he glared meanly at the other man.
“What did you do to her?” he growled, his breathing raspy and quick as adrenaline pumped through him. Ethan was in front of him now - not anymore then a few meters away from his reach. In a sudden sweep, the musician reached down for a long stick and rushed at the other man, shouting his question again. But Ethan was faster - stronger, much to much for just a stubby ex-junkie to handle alone - and in an instant, the other man had his hand wrapped around the musician’s throat and had pinned him against a tree.
“I really hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” Ethan hissed, his lips brushing against the younger mans ear, who shuddered in disgust.
“I will never do what you want,” he gasped out between panting breaths. Ethan sighed mockingly, glaring down at the ex-junkie.
“I will get her back Charlie. I really wish you could be there to watch her fall,” the Other taunted in the musician’s ear, before slamming the stick that the ex-junkie had been holding straight into his heart. The shorter man gurgled as blood trickled from between his white lips, and Ethan smirked down at the dying man as he fell to the ground.
In an instant, Ethan was kneeling beside him, his lips once again whispering beside the younger man’s ear. “And trust me Charlie, she will fall.”
Charlie is dead within moments, while still clutching the stick that killed him. His body is left in front of Claire’s tent - vines tying him up to a tree, poetic justice - and for some reason, the blonde woman can’t make herself cry.
- We all fall down (numbers)
They all sighed in relief as Hurley crossed the bridge with victory. A second later, licking his lips, the sandy-haired musician started towards the rickety wooden bridge, determined and resolute.
“Charlie!”
“Hey!”
“Hey! If he can do it!” he pointed out snappishly, tilting his head at Hurley who waits patiently at the other side.
The ex-junkie continues slowly across the bridge, as it wobbles underneath his small feet. He grips the rough rope to his left tightly, as slight fear tingles in his stomach.
One step. Two step. Three step.
The niggling of a cough tickles his throat, and he awkwardly smothers it, biting hard on his lip.
Four step. Five step. Six step.
His right arm trembles gawkily in the air, grasping for an unknown source of comfort. He blinks and swallows, praying to get to the other side in once piece.
Seven step. Eight step.
Snap.
Creak.
“Charlie!”
“Move!”
He leaps towards Hurley, his hands grasping for his friend’s own hands, but only grabbing on empty air. A short shriek rises in his throat as he falls several feet down before grabbing onto flimsy thread of rope.
“Charlie!”
“Charlie!”
He gulps and gags and gargles as he hangs desperately on for dear life.
Snap.
Creak.
The rope is torn - he weighs much too much for a single delicate strand of rope to hold - and then he is falling, falling, fallen.
Charlie is left bloody and torn and broken in the gorge, clutching a snapped fiber of rope. It’s probably a blessing for everyone that no one sees the body.
- You give love a bad name (live together, die alone)
She leans in, just a little, and her lips are on his a moment later. Finally - finally - it’s all come into place. All of this fakeness, all of her lies have paid off, because when she goes to pull away, he yanks her in closer, moaning her name. She grins against his lips, and then CRACK, his blood is dribbling over her already pink lips.
She twists the knife deeper into his gut, and she swears she hears him whimper in her.
Fuck, she’s never felt more alive.
Nobody notices her as she pulls him into the jungle. It’s dark, and nobody sees the large, dark stain on his shirt; or that his eyes are shut and he’s limp on her. All they see is her and him, sneaking off into the jungle after kissing by the fire; and this is why she had to lie to everyone - even John.
He is waiting for her a few kilometers in.
She smirks, presses a kiss - real and warm, unlike the fake, cold one she planted on Charlie’s now dead-white lips just minutes before - against his stubbly cheek. He kisses her back, right on the lips and his tongue tangles with hers in his smooth, passionate way.
“Did you get them?” she breathes when he lets her go to take the ex-musician - ex-everything now, he’s dead - from her grip. Her companion nods his reply, waving off into the darkness.
“They came and took them back to camp a few minutes ago. They just need the soldier - Sayid - and then they’ll have everyone they need. Good work Claire,” he murmurs, caressing her hair back from her face in a way so tender, so unlike his brash personality.
“Thanks.”
They work in silence for several long minutes, before they move to leave in the moonlit shadows.
Charlie is dead, Claire is not innocent and Goodwin is not dead. It should feel wrong, but then Claire smirks, and suddenly everything feels very, very right.
Disclaimer: Songs used for part titles are:
'Monster ate the pilot' created by Lost Writers, used by Charlie Pace in 1x22 Born To Run. Modified by moi.
'Hanging by a moment' created and sung by Lifehouse.
'Weapon' created and sung by Matthew Good.
'Ring around the rosie' created by Unknown. -- is a nursey rhyme.
'You give love a bad name' created and sung by Bon Jovi.
None of these songs are mine. Characters belong to JJ, Damon, Carlton, ABC, Touchstone, etc. :)
This was alot of work, especially since my computer shut down by accident about a million times and I kept loosing my work because Document Recovery wouldn't work for me. It must hate Charlie too. *giggles* So please, love it? *puppy dog eyes*