Fic, Lost: The Devil's Right Hand (ensemble), PG13, for lostsquee
Title: The Devil's Right Hand
Rating: PG13
Characters: Danielle, Kate, Sawyer, Boone, Charlie, Shannon, Michael, Locke, Jack, Juliet, Sayid
Word counting: 1100.
Disclaimer: Lost is not mine, even if all of this stuff happened ;)
Spoilers: Up to The Other Woman.
Summary: Eleven guns-related drabbles.
A/N: For the picture prompt, day 7, at lostsquee (the pic with the gun). This is one of the weirdest things I've ever done and I still think I'm not any good at drabbles but it wanted to go like this *shrugs*. Blame Steve Earle and Johnny Cash for the title. I really should stop listening to music at the gym.
The trial was in the morning and they drug me out of bed
Asked me how I pleaded, not guilty I said
Not guilty I said, you've got the wrong man
Nothing touched the trigger but the devil's right hand.
The Devil's Right Hand, Steve Earle
--
Robert’s face is covered in blood, dripping down from his nose; he doesn’t notice.
He is here but he’s also somewhere else. He doesn’t know her, he doesn’t know when they are.
One hour ago, it was the day she told him she was pregnant. Ten minutes ago, it was the day they crashed.
His gun is heavy in her hands, the firing pin removed; he doesn’t notice it.
Then he suddenly is there, looking straight at her; she can recognize him only from his eyes. The rest, it’s not him.
Je te prie, Danielle.
She aims at the head.
--
She hadn’t planned on this, but it’s the only way.
She doesn’t want anyone hurt and she means it, but if shooting Jason is the only way to prevent something worse, fine. Kate really doesn’t have a choice.
She’s fast; she grabs the gun, pulls the trigger twice and they are on the ground. But they’re going to live, so that’s as fine as it gets.
The gun is light in her hands; everything happened so fast that she really hasn’t almost noticed the sequence of events. But it isn’t important.
What’s important, is to get what she came for.
--
Duckett’s words die with him and Sawyer’s hands shake.
Rain is pouring, fast and hard and he’s chilled to the bone.
His lips move but no sounds comes out. He crashes on his knees, clothes soaking wet; the gun in his hand looks almost menacing.
The thin, frail paper of the letter is slippery between his fingers and he wants to throw up.
He mouths a sorry which isn’t of any use; he really has fucked up, this time.
He’s in trouble and it’s a damn sorry one. But that gun that put him there, it won’t get him out.
--
He won’t ever say it, but he’s glad that Kate has that gun. It was necessary that someone had it but Boone has to let Shannon win on this one.
He hates guns and alright, he never had one his whole life and sure, he went to marches. What about it?
He knows how one works, sure, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t felt a chill running down his spine the second he took it. He can still feel his palm sweating.
No, guns aren’t really his thing. He still wants to help; means he’s going to find another way.
--
Charlie has never fired a gun in his whole life, but that really isn’t the point.
He sees Jack dropping the gun. That’s all he needs.
It’s wet and cold and slippery; his fingers close tightly around the handle and it doesn’t fall.
Jack is holding him to the ground. It’s now or never.
His neck aches and he feels like he’s going to suffocate. It isn’t time. Claire screams and he pulls the trigger.
One, two, three, four, five, six.
Then there aren’t any more bullets and Ethan is dead.
The gun falls to the ground. He isn’t sorry.
--
Shannon’s hand shakes. She can’t see right. More because she’s crying than because it’s raining.
It was an accident.
She doesn’t believe it. It wasn’t, he’s gone, Locke showed up with Boone’s blood on his shirt.
He might have died a hero; she couldn’t care less.
It’s the first time she ever aims a gun.
A flash comes. He’s sixteen, his shirt has a peace symbol on it, he’s tired, Sabrina is outside her room telling him that going to marches is something that a well-adjusted person doesn’t do and it aches.
Firing comes easy, but it’s all for nothing.
--
I’m sorry.
He pulls on the trigger and closes his eyes for a second.
When he opens them again, she’s on the couch, a bullet in her waist, her head reclined on her arm.
Dead.
Walt, forgive me.
There’s a noise on his right, Michael?, and he fires again without even thinking about it.
Libby lies on the ground, blankets not clutched to her chest anymore; he opens the armery door, his fingers shaking so badly. He nods at him.
He aims the gun at his shoulder and fires. In comparison to what he just did, it hurts much less.
--
Helen would say, don’t forget that you’re always an employee in a box company.
The last time he remembered it, it was when he told Boone.
He can’t think about it. Not now.
The place where his kidney should have been aches. His hand trembles and he should shoot Jack, he’s wrong, he’ll kill them all.
Locke knows, but he’s there and Jack has that phone and even if he could sacrifice that woman to the greater good, he doesn’t find it in himself to fire.
He doesn’t have it in him. He should have learned a long time ago.
--
He’s a man of science, which means he’s also a man of reason. But when he sees Locke standing there, he decides that reason can be left out for once.
He’s fed up and Naomi is just the last straw.
From Boone to the whole hatch business to the submarine and everything else in between, he’s just fed up and for once he doesn’t think. Jack points the gun in Locke’s face, feeling every nerve ready to snap.
You’re not going to shoot me.
Wanna bet?, he thinks before firing. Of course the chamber is empty.
Well, now he’s enraged.
--
Pickett was an obstacle.
She resents shooting him like that, but it was the only way. If he killed Ford, she was never going to leave. She couldn’t have it, not when she was so close.
She realizes that it’s the lowest point she’s ever brought herself to because of Ben.
The gun feels incredibly heavy; Dan is the last person in the world she should point one to. If she fires, this will become the lowest point Ben brought her to.
Juliet lowers the gun; Ben deceived her again and she just had the confirmation.
She’ll never be free.
--
He crawls over the floor, his shoulder burning. He knows he’s crying; he doesn’t try to stop it.
She lies on the floor, the gun she used to shoot him still between her fingers. He left the one he used on the bed. He thinks he’d do anything in order not to see a gun again.
He was a soldier, shooting someone shouldn’t be so hard. Especially for the greater good.
Right now Sayid couldn’t care less about it.
He always figured it was for everyone’s best that Ben recruited him.
Just this once, he wishes it was someone else.
End.
Rating: PG13
Characters: Danielle, Kate, Sawyer, Boone, Charlie, Shannon, Michael, Locke, Jack, Juliet, Sayid
Word counting: 1100.
Disclaimer: Lost is not mine, even if all of this stuff happened ;)
Spoilers: Up to The Other Woman.
Summary: Eleven guns-related drabbles.
A/N: For the picture prompt, day 7, at lostsquee (the pic with the gun). This is one of the weirdest things I've ever done and I still think I'm not any good at drabbles but it wanted to go like this *shrugs*. Blame Steve Earle and Johnny Cash for the title. I really should stop listening to music at the gym.
The trial was in the morning and they drug me out of bed
Asked me how I pleaded, not guilty I said
Not guilty I said, you've got the wrong man
Nothing touched the trigger but the devil's right hand.
The Devil's Right Hand, Steve Earle
--
Robert’s face is covered in blood, dripping down from his nose; he doesn’t notice.
He is here but he’s also somewhere else. He doesn’t know her, he doesn’t know when they are.
One hour ago, it was the day she told him she was pregnant. Ten minutes ago, it was the day they crashed.
His gun is heavy in her hands, the firing pin removed; he doesn’t notice it.
Then he suddenly is there, looking straight at her; she can recognize him only from his eyes. The rest, it’s not him.
Je te prie, Danielle.
She aims at the head.
--
She hadn’t planned on this, but it’s the only way.
She doesn’t want anyone hurt and she means it, but if shooting Jason is the only way to prevent something worse, fine. Kate really doesn’t have a choice.
She’s fast; she grabs the gun, pulls the trigger twice and they are on the ground. But they’re going to live, so that’s as fine as it gets.
The gun is light in her hands; everything happened so fast that she really hasn’t almost noticed the sequence of events. But it isn’t important.
What’s important, is to get what she came for.
--
Duckett’s words die with him and Sawyer’s hands shake.
Rain is pouring, fast and hard and he’s chilled to the bone.
His lips move but no sounds comes out. He crashes on his knees, clothes soaking wet; the gun in his hand looks almost menacing.
The thin, frail paper of the letter is slippery between his fingers and he wants to throw up.
He mouths a sorry which isn’t of any use; he really has fucked up, this time.
He’s in trouble and it’s a damn sorry one. But that gun that put him there, it won’t get him out.
--
He won’t ever say it, but he’s glad that Kate has that gun. It was necessary that someone had it but Boone has to let Shannon win on this one.
He hates guns and alright, he never had one his whole life and sure, he went to marches. What about it?
He knows how one works, sure, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t felt a chill running down his spine the second he took it. He can still feel his palm sweating.
No, guns aren’t really his thing. He still wants to help; means he’s going to find another way.
--
Charlie has never fired a gun in his whole life, but that really isn’t the point.
He sees Jack dropping the gun. That’s all he needs.
It’s wet and cold and slippery; his fingers close tightly around the handle and it doesn’t fall.
Jack is holding him to the ground. It’s now or never.
His neck aches and he feels like he’s going to suffocate. It isn’t time. Claire screams and he pulls the trigger.
One, two, three, four, five, six.
Then there aren’t any more bullets and Ethan is dead.
The gun falls to the ground. He isn’t sorry.
--
Shannon’s hand shakes. She can’t see right. More because she’s crying than because it’s raining.
It was an accident.
She doesn’t believe it. It wasn’t, he’s gone, Locke showed up with Boone’s blood on his shirt.
He might have died a hero; she couldn’t care less.
It’s the first time she ever aims a gun.
A flash comes. He’s sixteen, his shirt has a peace symbol on it, he’s tired, Sabrina is outside her room telling him that going to marches is something that a well-adjusted person doesn’t do and it aches.
Firing comes easy, but it’s all for nothing.
--
I’m sorry.
He pulls on the trigger and closes his eyes for a second.
When he opens them again, she’s on the couch, a bullet in her waist, her head reclined on her arm.
Dead.
Walt, forgive me.
There’s a noise on his right, Michael?, and he fires again without even thinking about it.
Libby lies on the ground, blankets not clutched to her chest anymore; he opens the armery door, his fingers shaking so badly. He nods at him.
He aims the gun at his shoulder and fires. In comparison to what he just did, it hurts much less.
--
Helen would say, don’t forget that you’re always an employee in a box company.
The last time he remembered it, it was when he told Boone.
He can’t think about it. Not now.
The place where his kidney should have been aches. His hand trembles and he should shoot Jack, he’s wrong, he’ll kill them all.
Locke knows, but he’s there and Jack has that phone and even if he could sacrifice that woman to the greater good, he doesn’t find it in himself to fire.
He doesn’t have it in him. He should have learned a long time ago.
--
He’s a man of science, which means he’s also a man of reason. But when he sees Locke standing there, he decides that reason can be left out for once.
He’s fed up and Naomi is just the last straw.
From Boone to the whole hatch business to the submarine and everything else in between, he’s just fed up and for once he doesn’t think. Jack points the gun in Locke’s face, feeling every nerve ready to snap.
You’re not going to shoot me.
Wanna bet?, he thinks before firing. Of course the chamber is empty.
Well, now he’s enraged.
--
Pickett was an obstacle.
She resents shooting him like that, but it was the only way. If he killed Ford, she was never going to leave. She couldn’t have it, not when she was so close.
She realizes that it’s the lowest point she’s ever brought herself to because of Ben.
The gun feels incredibly heavy; Dan is the last person in the world she should point one to. If she fires, this will become the lowest point Ben brought her to.
Juliet lowers the gun; Ben deceived her again and she just had the confirmation.
She’ll never be free.
--
He crawls over the floor, his shoulder burning. He knows he’s crying; he doesn’t try to stop it.
She lies on the floor, the gun she used to shoot him still between her fingers. He left the one he used on the bed. He thinks he’d do anything in order not to see a gun again.
He was a soldier, shooting someone shouldn’t be so hard. Especially for the greater good.
Right now Sayid couldn’t care less about it.
He always figured it was for everyone’s best that Ben recruited him.
Just this once, he wishes it was someone else.
End.