BINGO FILL - Magnificent Seven Fic
Title: The Way Out
Author: Caiti
Fandom: Magnificent Seven
Characters: Ezra Standish
Pairings: n/a
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Rating: PG/T
Warnings: Mention of a suicide attempt
Word Count: 686
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Story is done from the love of fandom and writing.
Summary: Ezra is trying to find his way out.
Bingo Fills:
Mag 7 - Blowing Tumbleweeds
Angst - Starvation
Hurt/Comfort - Suicide Attempt
”Trying to escape the only way he could.”
“But…”
“No buts. Damn bastards were starving him.”
“He had to know we were comin’.”
“Maybe - but he didn’t know how long we’d be before finding him.”
“Probably the only way out he could see.”
Ezra floated in the darkness, his thoughts scattered and skittering like the tumbleweeds blowing across the desert. He knew those voices, didn’t he? He couldn’t think. Something wasn’t right here. Was he dead? He thought he should be. He felt weak, heavy, like he was merging into the surface below him.
”Where’s the damn broth? We need to start gettin’ somethin’ in him or we’re gonna lose him.”
Gentle eyes, deft hands, a stubborn mouth…yes, he knew that voice. The Healer. Why couldn’t he come up with a name? Healer, healer…the name skipped just out of his reach.
”Here it is! Mrs. Potter’s got more on the stove if we need it.”
He knew that one too. The Kid. Open smile, quick hands, bright eyes…who? Could a name hide?
A trickled of warmth seemed to enter his body. It was trying to stop the merging.
”Who the hell treats a man like that? Starvin’ him? It’s not right!”
The Rogue. He felt amusement winding through the tumbleweeds. That voice belonged to laughing eyes, open hands, and wide grins. The name bubbled in his mind but the thought fled before he could grab it.
The trickle of warmth disappeared and coolness flowed instead. He realized it was something being dripped into his mouth. What type of mouth did he have?
”Come, brother, a little more water, and then you can have more broth.”
The deep voice called up a vision in his mind of a serious mouth, strong hands, and piercing eyes. The Preacher. The name, the name, he could almost see it. He just needed a little more light.
A loud bang assaulted his ears.
”Best settle a bit, Cowboy. You’re goin’ to get him upset. He’s got enough to be worryin’ about just gettin’ better.”
He knew that one…he could taste the name. It rose to his lips, but evaporated before the he could do more than breathe. The Tracker. Astute eyes, steady hands, and an amused mouth - he wanted to remember his name.
The warm trickle returned. Now he could taste the flavor as it slid past his tongue. Why couldn’t he open his eyes? He wanted to see…to see…them. He wondered how they would describe his eyes.
”Settle, hell! I’ll settle when we find the bastards. He had to throw himself off a damned cliff in a damn attempt at suicide to escape! We’re just lucky he managed to hit that ledge. They’ll be twisting in the wind before I settle.”
Dark eyes, hard hands, and an angry mouth…his thoughts paused in their tumbling. He knew that one. The Leader. He really, really knew that one. A quick inhale and the noise around him died abruptly. He opened his mouth, but only coughed. He licked his lips, trying to moisten them. He knew that name.
A steady, warm hand pressed down on his forehead. “Ezra?” A calm voice reached his ears.
Tremors raced down his spine. The warmth on his forehead began to waken his other senses. He could feel a clawing sensation starting to dig at his stomach as pain carved itself across his body. His hands shook. Were they weak?
“Ezra?” The calm voice became more insistent. “Wake up now. You’re safe.”
Safe? Of course he was safe. He knew that voice. He had to tell them he knew that voice. He couldn’t let them worry. His eyelids fluttered and the light seared into his vision. He closed them once more.
“No,” insisted the voice. “Look at me.”
Almost without thought his eyes opened. He blinked. They felt dry and hollow. His thoughts gathered themselves, forcing his mind to concentrate on the blurry figure sitting beside him, leaning towards him. All of the tumbleweeds stopped and steadied as he met the stormy eyes that belonged to that voice, the voice that led him out of the desert.
“Chris…?”
Reviews are always welcome.
Crosspost from DW
Author: Caiti
Fandom: Magnificent Seven
Characters: Ezra Standish
Pairings: n/a
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Rating: PG/T
Warnings: Mention of a suicide attempt
Word Count: 686
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Story is done from the love of fandom and writing.
Summary: Ezra is trying to find his way out.
Bingo Fills:
Mag 7 - Blowing Tumbleweeds
Angst - Starvation
Hurt/Comfort - Suicide Attempt
”Trying to escape the only way he could.”
“But…”
“No buts. Damn bastards were starving him.”
“He had to know we were comin’.”
“Maybe - but he didn’t know how long we’d be before finding him.”
“Probably the only way out he could see.”
Ezra floated in the darkness, his thoughts scattered and skittering like the tumbleweeds blowing across the desert. He knew those voices, didn’t he? He couldn’t think. Something wasn’t right here. Was he dead? He thought he should be. He felt weak, heavy, like he was merging into the surface below him.
”Where’s the damn broth? We need to start gettin’ somethin’ in him or we’re gonna lose him.”
Gentle eyes, deft hands, a stubborn mouth…yes, he knew that voice. The Healer. Why couldn’t he come up with a name? Healer, healer…the name skipped just out of his reach.
”Here it is! Mrs. Potter’s got more on the stove if we need it.”
He knew that one too. The Kid. Open smile, quick hands, bright eyes…who? Could a name hide?
A trickled of warmth seemed to enter his body. It was trying to stop the merging.
”Who the hell treats a man like that? Starvin’ him? It’s not right!”
The Rogue. He felt amusement winding through the tumbleweeds. That voice belonged to laughing eyes, open hands, and wide grins. The name bubbled in his mind but the thought fled before he could grab it.
The trickle of warmth disappeared and coolness flowed instead. He realized it was something being dripped into his mouth. What type of mouth did he have?
”Come, brother, a little more water, and then you can have more broth.”
The deep voice called up a vision in his mind of a serious mouth, strong hands, and piercing eyes. The Preacher. The name, the name, he could almost see it. He just needed a little more light.
A loud bang assaulted his ears.
”Best settle a bit, Cowboy. You’re goin’ to get him upset. He’s got enough to be worryin’ about just gettin’ better.”
He knew that one…he could taste the name. It rose to his lips, but evaporated before the he could do more than breathe. The Tracker. Astute eyes, steady hands, and an amused mouth - he wanted to remember his name.
The warm trickle returned. Now he could taste the flavor as it slid past his tongue. Why couldn’t he open his eyes? He wanted to see…to see…them. He wondered how they would describe his eyes.
”Settle, hell! I’ll settle when we find the bastards. He had to throw himself off a damned cliff in a damn attempt at suicide to escape! We’re just lucky he managed to hit that ledge. They’ll be twisting in the wind before I settle.”
Dark eyes, hard hands, and an angry mouth…his thoughts paused in their tumbling. He knew that one. The Leader. He really, really knew that one. A quick inhale and the noise around him died abruptly. He opened his mouth, but only coughed. He licked his lips, trying to moisten them. He knew that name.
A steady, warm hand pressed down on his forehead. “Ezra?” A calm voice reached his ears.
Tremors raced down his spine. The warmth on his forehead began to waken his other senses. He could feel a clawing sensation starting to dig at his stomach as pain carved itself across his body. His hands shook. Were they weak?
“Ezra?” The calm voice became more insistent. “Wake up now. You’re safe.”
Safe? Of course he was safe. He knew that voice. He had to tell them he knew that voice. He couldn’t let them worry. His eyelids fluttered and the light seared into his vision. He closed them once more.
“No,” insisted the voice. “Look at me.”
Almost without thought his eyes opened. He blinked. They felt dry and hollow. His thoughts gathered themselves, forcing his mind to concentrate on the blurry figure sitting beside him, leaning towards him. All of the tumbleweeds stopped and steadied as he met the stormy eyes that belonged to that voice, the voice that led him out of the desert.
“Chris…?”
Reviews are always welcome.
Crosspost from DW