Tin Man Fic: My Sacrifice
Title: My Sacrifice
Author: gatechic
Characters/Pairing: A bunch of people - I'm too lazy to list. This will be centered around Azkadellia and Garrett eventually.
Rating: R (to be safe)
Warning: Mention of rape, suicide, and bad language.
Summary: Post-series. After the events of Bad Company. The Zone is in disarray with fractions forming across the land. Will DG and the Cains be able to save the Zone from another war or will brother fight brother? One will make the ultimate sacrifice, one will get revenge, and one will heal.
Word Count: 716
Disclaimer: Tin Man characters belong to the SciFi Channel, RHI, Steven Long Mitchell and Craig W. Van Sickle. But Travis, Isabelle and Garrett belong to me. I also borrow from L. Frank Baum, Gregory Maguire and Rachel R Cosgrove (Payes). This is purely for fun and I'm not making a penny off of this.
A/N: This is a WIP and full of OCs. Written for the Big Damn Prompt Table. My table, complete with the finished icons, is here. Yes, I do intend on finishing the other fics, but my muse writes what he wants to write.
Government|| Symbol, support, erase|| Heat, solid|| Bizarre|| Day|| Boot, catch/caught, tangle|| Paint, granted, envelope, rock||Mythic, stripes, liquid,luck
This is written from Garrett's point of view.
I’m so fucking tired. Tired of being fucked up in the head. Tired of the panic attacks that ambush me. I’m tired of walking into bars and sizing up potential foes to fight with. I’m tired of jumping at the slightest sound of a hammer or thunder. I’m tired of Rebecca seeing a total stranger when she looks at me. I’m not the man I once was. Hell, I don’t even know who I am.
I’m just plain fucking tired.
The thing is, I’m not the only one. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of men like me walking around the Outer Zone like fucking time bombs ready to go off if someone looks at us wrong. I know there’s been talk about what to do for us, or in truth, where to put us so we don’t harm anyone or ourselves. I’m not going to some hospital to be locked up, hidden from the OZ like we’re something to be ashamed of.
We joined the Resistance to save their sorry asses and this is the fucking thanks we get? Drugged, locked up, cast aside, forgotten, ignored…
We were called to war, do our duty for Queen and country, some of us end up locked in an iron suit, and they expect us to rejoin society like nothing happened. Are they fucking nuts?
Yeah, nuts. I’m nuts. I did…things. So many things. My hands are covered in blood and I can’t wash it off. I killed Harold, one quick bullet to his head. That was too easy for him. I should have waited. I should have made him suffer. I should have…not left my family behind. It’s all my fault. I failed Becky. I failed Riley. I failed Tyler. I failed Lulu. But, I got him. The one that hurt my baby, the one that committed the most heinous crime a man can commit against a woman and a child. My child.
What is wrong with me?
The voices. One is angry with me, with what I’ve done. The other is proud. Even congratulated me on the way I castrated the son-of-a-bitch and hung him on a fence like a scarecrow, like a warning sign: You mess with my girls and I will fuck you up.
This voice loves the darkness I have within, loves the new me. All thanks to the iron suit and the mining camp. But, I don’t like this voice. It belongs to the Sorceress, Singra, the evil witch of the south. I can’t tell anyone. They’ll lock me up for sure. I try to push her back, build a dam inside my mind to keep her back, but she finds the cracks, seeps through, talks to me, tells me things…
I feel myself falling as if I stepped off a cliff when she speaks to me. Darkness blankets me and she catches me. Her hand pierces my chest. I can feel her hands digging, searching. I know what she wants and I fight her, but she finds what she wants and pulls my heart out. I’m still alive, and she owns me now. She’s always with me. I look in the mirror and I see her staring back at me.
Why me?
Let go. I will make us great.
I need help.
No, I won’t be locked up again. I won’t let her pull me away again. I will kill him if she tries.
Shut-up!
I pound my head with my open hands, trying everything I could think of to get the witch to stop. My knife glistening in the light of the first rising moon sparkles in my eye like a diamond reflecting light. One cut, one slash would quiet the voices. I pick it up; place it against the skin on my wrist. I can feel the pounding of my heart in my ears like distant drums. That’s when her voice finally goes silent. I set the knife down to search my saddlebags frantically until I find what I’m looking for: A bottle of whiskey and a bottle of vapors. If my father knew, if Wyatt knew…if Becky knew. I can’t tell them. Never.
Stay with her at all costs. Protect her. You must inhale the magic.
I do inhale the vapors. And I’ll sleep, until the nightmares come.
Author: gatechic
Characters/Pairing: A bunch of people - I'm too lazy to list. This will be centered around Azkadellia and Garrett eventually.
Rating: R (to be safe)
Warning: Mention of rape, suicide, and bad language.
Summary: Post-series. After the events of Bad Company. The Zone is in disarray with fractions forming across the land. Will DG and the Cains be able to save the Zone from another war or will brother fight brother? One will make the ultimate sacrifice, one will get revenge, and one will heal.
Word Count: 716
Disclaimer: Tin Man characters belong to the SciFi Channel, RHI, Steven Long Mitchell and Craig W. Van Sickle. But Travis, Isabelle and Garrett belong to me. I also borrow from L. Frank Baum, Gregory Maguire and Rachel R Cosgrove (Payes). This is purely for fun and I'm not making a penny off of this.
A/N: This is a WIP and full of OCs. Written for the Big Damn Prompt Table. My table, complete with the finished icons, is here. Yes, I do intend on finishing the other fics, but my muse writes what he wants to write.
Government|| Symbol, support, erase|| Heat, solid|| Bizarre|| Day|| Boot, catch/caught, tangle|| Paint, granted, envelope, rock||Mythic, stripes, liquid,luck
This is written from Garrett's point of view.
I’m so fucking tired. Tired of being fucked up in the head. Tired of the panic attacks that ambush me. I’m tired of walking into bars and sizing up potential foes to fight with. I’m tired of jumping at the slightest sound of a hammer or thunder. I’m tired of Rebecca seeing a total stranger when she looks at me. I’m not the man I once was. Hell, I don’t even know who I am.
I’m just plain fucking tired.
The thing is, I’m not the only one. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of men like me walking around the Outer Zone like fucking time bombs ready to go off if someone looks at us wrong. I know there’s been talk about what to do for us, or in truth, where to put us so we don’t harm anyone or ourselves. I’m not going to some hospital to be locked up, hidden from the OZ like we’re something to be ashamed of.
We joined the Resistance to save their sorry asses and this is the fucking thanks we get? Drugged, locked up, cast aside, forgotten, ignored…
We were called to war, do our duty for Queen and country, some of us end up locked in an iron suit, and they expect us to rejoin society like nothing happened. Are they fucking nuts?
Yeah, nuts. I’m nuts. I did…things. So many things. My hands are covered in blood and I can’t wash it off. I killed Harold, one quick bullet to his head. That was too easy for him. I should have waited. I should have made him suffer. I should have…not left my family behind. It’s all my fault. I failed Becky. I failed Riley. I failed Tyler. I failed Lulu. But, I got him. The one that hurt my baby, the one that committed the most heinous crime a man can commit against a woman and a child. My child.
What is wrong with me?
The voices. One is angry with me, with what I’ve done. The other is proud. Even congratulated me on the way I castrated the son-of-a-bitch and hung him on a fence like a scarecrow, like a warning sign: You mess with my girls and I will fuck you up.
This voice loves the darkness I have within, loves the new me. All thanks to the iron suit and the mining camp. But, I don’t like this voice. It belongs to the Sorceress, Singra, the evil witch of the south. I can’t tell anyone. They’ll lock me up for sure. I try to push her back, build a dam inside my mind to keep her back, but she finds the cracks, seeps through, talks to me, tells me things…
I feel myself falling as if I stepped off a cliff when she speaks to me. Darkness blankets me and she catches me. Her hand pierces my chest. I can feel her hands digging, searching. I know what she wants and I fight her, but she finds what she wants and pulls my heart out. I’m still alive, and she owns me now. She’s always with me. I look in the mirror and I see her staring back at me.
Why me?
Let go. I will make us great.
I need help.
No, I won’t be locked up again. I won’t let her pull me away again. I will kill him if she tries.
Shut-up!
I pound my head with my open hands, trying everything I could think of to get the witch to stop. My knife glistening in the light of the first rising moon sparkles in my eye like a diamond reflecting light. One cut, one slash would quiet the voices. I pick it up; place it against the skin on my wrist. I can feel the pounding of my heart in my ears like distant drums. That’s when her voice finally goes silent. I set the knife down to search my saddlebags frantically until I find what I’m looking for: A bottle of whiskey and a bottle of vapors. If my father knew, if Wyatt knew…if Becky knew. I can’t tell them. Never.
Stay with her at all costs. Protect her. You must inhale the magic.
I do inhale the vapors. And I’ll sleep, until the nightmares come.