(no subject)
Date: April 13/14, 2003
Status: Private (Joe - Complete)
Setting: Joe’s room
Summary: Nightmares
There were dead people everywhere. Men, women, children. Those that weren't dead or dying from gun or knife wounds were screaming, some in fear, some in pain.
He stumbled on, not looking right or left. His foot caught on something, and he fell to the ground, hard. He did not want to look back at what had tripped him, but his body moved of its own accord. For a moment, he stared into the dead face of his platoon leader, before more shots sounded and he scrambled up and ran again, Cord's last words still echoing in his ears. Survive.
His foot came down on something flat, and he heard an ominous clicking sound, so much lower than the gunfire, and yet just as deadly. Like a deer in the headlights he froze, realizing where his headlong dash had led him.
Those things didn't tick, he knew that, and yet he could hear it, drowning out all other sound until the ground exploded under his feed and his world went dark.
And he woke to a cloud of pain enveloping him. He was lying on the ground, and the ground was wet and sticky. Wet and sticky and red. He heard shots again. Panic took him. He wanted to get up and run, but his legs refused to cooperate. He fought the fear, fought the pain and somehow managed to glance down.
He barely suppressed a scream when he realized that his legs were not responding because he had no legs anymore. He was--
He grabbed for his gun and touched nothing.
Something, someone was approaching. His pain and fear peaked, and he opened his eyes...
...onto his hotel room.
He wiped cold sweat from his face. It had not been that way. Well, he had been in Vietnam, and the landmine had certainly happened, but he had seen Andrew Cord go down from a distance. But Cord was an immortal, and he had been rescued him, carried him the sixteen miles to the next mobile hospital. Where he had learned what they'd done to him, and ultimately found out about the immortals.
There was a shadow standing in his room. He looked up, and even though the darkness he could see the blonde hair of his brother in law James Horton. His dead brother in law.
“Remember, Joseph?” Horton said, his voice not far above a whisper. “Remember what I can give you?”
Joe closed his eyes, and tried hard to close his ears against Horton's voice, the insane promises it held, the lies and the temptation.
“Wings, Joseph, remember?” Horton went on. “Flying. Running on the beach. Dancing. Remember?”
Not Horton. Ahriman. A demon McLeod had fought and defeated a couple of years before. He could not be back. He could not be back!
That meant that he was still dreaming. He had to be!
He had to wake up.
In a desperate attempt at pulling out of the deam, he launched himself at the Horton/Ahriman apparition.
Sudden contact with a hard hotel-room floor certainly served well to wake a person up. For a moment, Joe remained where he was, trying to convince himself that he was, indeed, back in the waking world now.
He didn't remember last night's dreams, but he had certainly slept better. Something about this hotel was decidedly off. He'd have to keep his ears open in the bar and see if he was the only one feeling that way.
And, no matter how that turned out, he would have to talk to McLeod about his sometime tomorrow.
Today, he thought wearily as he glanced at his watch. Only a few hours left until morning, and he felt like he had not slept at all yet.
He just hoped Horton would stay out of his dreams this time.
Status: Private (Joe - Complete)
Setting: Joe’s room
Summary: Nightmares
There were dead people everywhere. Men, women, children. Those that weren't dead or dying from gun or knife wounds were screaming, some in fear, some in pain.
He stumbled on, not looking right or left. His foot caught on something, and he fell to the ground, hard. He did not want to look back at what had tripped him, but his body moved of its own accord. For a moment, he stared into the dead face of his platoon leader, before more shots sounded and he scrambled up and ran again, Cord's last words still echoing in his ears. Survive.
His foot came down on something flat, and he heard an ominous clicking sound, so much lower than the gunfire, and yet just as deadly. Like a deer in the headlights he froze, realizing where his headlong dash had led him.
Those things didn't tick, he knew that, and yet he could hear it, drowning out all other sound until the ground exploded under his feed and his world went dark.
And he woke to a cloud of pain enveloping him. He was lying on the ground, and the ground was wet and sticky. Wet and sticky and red. He heard shots again. Panic took him. He wanted to get up and run, but his legs refused to cooperate. He fought the fear, fought the pain and somehow managed to glance down.
He barely suppressed a scream when he realized that his legs were not responding because he had no legs anymore. He was--
He grabbed for his gun and touched nothing.
Something, someone was approaching. His pain and fear peaked, and he opened his eyes...
...onto his hotel room.
He wiped cold sweat from his face. It had not been that way. Well, he had been in Vietnam, and the landmine had certainly happened, but he had seen Andrew Cord go down from a distance. But Cord was an immortal, and he had been rescued him, carried him the sixteen miles to the next mobile hospital. Where he had learned what they'd done to him, and ultimately found out about the immortals.
There was a shadow standing in his room. He looked up, and even though the darkness he could see the blonde hair of his brother in law James Horton. His dead brother in law.
“Remember, Joseph?” Horton said, his voice not far above a whisper. “Remember what I can give you?”
Joe closed his eyes, and tried hard to close his ears against Horton's voice, the insane promises it held, the lies and the temptation.
“Wings, Joseph, remember?” Horton went on. “Flying. Running on the beach. Dancing. Remember?”
Not Horton. Ahriman. A demon McLeod had fought and defeated a couple of years before. He could not be back. He could not be back!
That meant that he was still dreaming. He had to be!
He had to wake up.
In a desperate attempt at pulling out of the deam, he launched himself at the Horton/Ahriman apparition.
Sudden contact with a hard hotel-room floor certainly served well to wake a person up. For a moment, Joe remained where he was, trying to convince himself that he was, indeed, back in the waking world now.
He didn't remember last night's dreams, but he had certainly slept better. Something about this hotel was decidedly off. He'd have to keep his ears open in the bar and see if he was the only one feeling that way.
And, no matter how that turned out, he would have to talk to McLeod about his sometime tomorrow.
Today, he thought wearily as he glanced at his watch. Only a few hours left until morning, and he felt like he had not slept at all yet.
He just hoped Horton would stay out of his dreams this time.